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OF  CALIFORNIA 


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Louise  Farrow  Barr 


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To  her  there  was  a  great  charm  in  all  that  goes  to  the  making  of  pictures.  —  Page  7» 


Eyebright. 


A    STORY. 


By  SUSAN   COOLIDGE,  ^se^Ji. 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    NEW    YEAr's    BARGAIN,"    "  WHAT    KATY    DID,"    "  WHAT 

KATY    DID    AT    SCHOOL,"    "  MISCHIEF'S    THANKSGIVING," 

"  NINE    LITTLE    GOSLINGS." 


SlSait!)  ^riltifiitrationfl;* 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1894. 


Copyright^ 

By  Roberts  Brothers. 

1879. 

Education 

GIFT 


University  press  : 
John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


eye 

CONTENTS. 

Library 

♦  ■ 

Chapter  paob 

I.    Lady  Jane  and  Lord  Guildford  ....        1 

11.  After  School 18 

III.  Mr.  Joyce 43 

rV.  A  Day  with  the  Shakers 66 

V.  How  THE  Black  Dog  had  his  Day    ...  85 

VI.  Changes 104 

VII.  Between  the  Old  Home  and  the  New      .  122 

Vni.  Causey  Island 143 

IX.  Shut  up  in  the  Oven 166 

X.  A  Long  Year  in  a  Short  Chapter   .     .     .  188 

XI.  A  Storm  on  the  Coast 204 

Xn.  Transplanted 226 


410 


EYEBRIGHT. 


CHAPTER    L 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD. 

IT  wanted 
but  five 
minutes  to 
twelve  in 
Miss  Fitch's 
schoolroom, 
and  a  gener- 
al restlessness  showed 
that  her  scholars  were 
aware  of  the  fact.  Some 
of  the  girls  had  closed 
their  books,  and  were 
putting  their  desks  to  rights,  with  a  good  deal  of 
unnecessary  fuss,  keeping  an  eye  on  the  clock  mean- 


**THE  falcon's  nest." 


2  EYEBRIGHT. 

while.  The  boys  wore  the  air  of  dogs  who  see 
their  master  coming  to  untie  them ;  they  jumped 
and  quivered,  making  the  benches  squeak  and  rattle, 
and  shifted  their  feet  about  on  the  uncarpeted  floor, 
producing  sounds  of  the  kind  most  trying  to  a 
nervous  teacher.  A  general  expectation  prevailed. 
Luckily,  Miss  Fitch  was  not  nervous.  She  had  that 
best  of  all  gifts  for  teaching,  —  calmness ;  and  she 
understood  her  pupils  and  their  ways,  and  had  sym- 
pathy with  them.  She  knew  how  hard  it  is  for  feet 
with  the  dance  of  youth  in  them  to  keep  still  for 
three  long  hours  on  a  June  morning ;  and  there  was 
a  pleasant,  roguish  look  in  her  face  as  she  laid  her 
hand  on  the  bell,  and,  meeting  the  twenty-two  pairs 
of  expectant  eyes  which  were  fixed  on  hers,  rang  it 
—  dear  Miss  Fitch  —  actually  a  minute  and  a  half 
before  the  time. 

At  the  first  tinkle,  like  arrows  dismissed  from  the 
bow-string,  two  girls  belonging  to  the  older  class 
jumped  from  their  seats  and  flew,  ahead  of  all  the 
rest,  into  the  entry,  where  hung  the  hats  and  caps 
of  the  school,  and  their  dinner-baskets.  One  seized 
a  pink  sun-bonnet  from  its  nail,  the  other  a  Shaker- 
scoop  with  a  deep  green  cape;  each  possessed  her- 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.      8 

self  of  a  small  tin  pail,  and  just  as  the  little  crowd 

swarmed  into  the  passage,  they  hurried  out  on  the 

green,  in    the    middle   of    which    the    schoolhouse 

stood.     It  was   a  very  small  green,  shaped  like   a 

triangle,  with  half  a  dozen  trees  growing  upon  it; 

but 

"  Little  things  are  great  to  little  men," 

you  know,  and  to  Miss  Fitch's  little  men  and  women 
"  the  Green  "  had  all  the  importance  and  excitement 
of  a  park  Each  one  of  the  trees  which  stood  upon  it 
possessed  a  name  of  its  own.  Every  crotch  and  branch 
in  them  was  known  to  the  boys  and  the  most  daring 
among  the  girls ;  each  had  been  the  scene  of  games 
and  adventures  without  number.  "  The  Castle,"  a 
low  spreading  oak  with  wide,  horizontal  branches, 
had  been  the  favorite  tree  for  fights.  Half  the 
boys  would  garrison  the  boughs,  the  other  half, 
scrambling  from  below  and  clutching  and  tugging, 
would  take  the  part  of  besiegers,  and  it  had  been 
great  fun  all  round.  But  alas,  for  that  "had  been  !" 
Ever  since  one  unlucky  day,  when  Luther  Bradley, 
as  King  Charles,  had  been  captured  five  boughs  up 
by  Cromwell  and  his  soldiers,  and  his  ankle  badly 
sprained  in  the  process,  Miss  Fitch  had  ruled  that 


4  EYEBKIGHT. 

•*  The  Castle  "  should  be  used  for  fighting  purposes 
no  longer.  The  boys  might  climb  it,  but  they  must 
not  call  themselves  a  garrison,  nor  pull  nor  struggle 
with  each  other.  So  the  poor  oak  was  shorn  of  its 
military  glories,  and  forced  to  comfort  itself  by  bear- 
ing a  larger  crop  of  acorns  than  had  been  possible 
during  the  stirring  and  warlike  times,  now  for  ever 
ended. 

Then  there  was  "  The  Dove-cote,"  an  easily 
climbed  beech,  on  which  rows  of  girls  might  be 
seen  at  noon-times  roosting  like  fowls  in  the  sun. 
And  there  was  "The  Falcon's  ISTest,"  which  pro- 
duced every  year  a  few  small,  sour  apples,  and 
which  Isabella  Bright  had  adopted  for  her  tree. 
She  knew  every  inch  of  the  way  to  the  top;  to 
climb  it  was  like  going  up  a  well-known  staircase, 
and  the  sensation  of  sitting  there  aloft,  high  in  air, 
on  a  bough  which  curved  and  swung,  with  another 
bough  exactly  fitting  her  back  to  lean  against,  was 
full  of  delight  and  fascination.  It  was  like  moving 
and  being  at  rest  all  at  once  ;  like  flying,  like 
escape.  The  wind  seemed  to  smell  differently  and 
more  sweetly  up  there  than  in  lower  places.  Two 
or  three  times  lost  in  fancies  as  deep  as  sleep,  Isa- 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.      5 

bella  had  forgotten  all  about  recess  and  bell,  and 
remained  on  her  perch,  swinging  and  dreaming,  till 
some  one  was  sent  to  tell  her  that  the  arithmetic 
class  had  begun.  And  once,  direful  day  !  marked 
with  everlasting  black  in  the  calendar  of  her  con- 
science, being  possessed  suddenly,  as  it  were,  by 
some  idle  and  tricksy  demon,  she  stayed  on  after  she 
was  called,  and,  called  again,  she  still  stayed ;  and 
when,  at  last,  Miss  Fitch  herself  came  out  and 
stood  beneath  the  tree,  and  in  her  pleasant,  mild 
voice  told  her  to  come  down,  still  the  naughty  girl, 
secure  in  her  fastness,  stayed.  And  when,  at  last, 
Miss  Fitch,  growing  angry,  spoke  severely  and  or- 
dered her  to  descend,  Isabella  shook  the  boughs, 
and  sent  a  shower  of  hard  little  apples  down  on  her 
kind  teacher's  head.  That  was  dreadful,  indeed, 
and  dreadfully  did  she  repent  it  afterward,  for  she 
loved  Miss  Fitch  dearly,  and,  except  for  being 
under  the  influence  of  the  demon,  could  never  have 
treated  her  so.  Miss  Fitch  did  not  kiss  her  for 
a  whole  month  afterward,  —  that  was  Isabella's 
punishment,  —  and  it  was  many  months  before 
she  could  speak  of  the  affair  without  feeling  her 
eyes  fill  swiftly  with  tears,  for  Isabella's  conscience 


O  EYEBRIGHT. 

was  tender*  and  her  feelings  very  quick  in  those 
days 

This^  however,  was  eighteen  months  ago,  when 
she  was  only  ten  and  a  half.  She  was  nearly  twelve 
now,  and  a  good  deal  taller  and  wiser.  I  hare 
introduced  her  as  Isabella,  because  that  was  her 
real  name,  but  the  children  and  everybody  always 
called  her  Eyebright.  ''  I.  Bright "  it  had  been  writ- 
ten in  the  report  of  her  first  week  at  Miss  Fitch's 
school,  when  she  was  a  little  thing  not  more  than  six 
years  old.  The  droll  name  struck  some  one's  fancy 
and  from  tliat  day  she  was  always  called  Eyebright 
because  of  that,  and  because  her  eyes  were  bright. 
They  were  gray  eyes,  large  and  clear,  set  in  a  wide, 
low  forehead,  from  which  a  thick  mop  of  hazel- 
brown  hair,  with  a  wavy  kink  all  through  it,  was 
combed  back,  and  tied  behind  with  a  brown  ribbon. 
Her  nose  turned  up  a  little ;  her  mouth  was  rather 
wide,  but  it  was  a  smiling,  good-tempered  mouth; 
the  cheeks  were  pink  and  wholesome,  and  altogether, 
though  not  particularly  pretty,  Eyebright  was  a 
pleasant-looking  little  girl  in  the  eyes  of  the  people 
who  loved  her,  and  they  were  a  good  many. 

I'he  companion  with  whom  she  was  walking  was 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.      7 

Bessie  Mather,  her  most  intimate  friend  just  then. 
Bessie  was  the  daughter  of  a  portrait-painter,  who 
didn't  have  many  portraits  to  paint,  so  he  was  apt 
to  be  discouraged,  and  his  family  to  feel  rather 
poor.  Eyebright  was  not  old  enough  to  perceive 
the  inconveniences  of  being  poor.  To  her  there 
was  a  great  charm  in  all  that  goes  to  the  making 
of  pictures.  She  loved  the  shining  paint-tubes, 
the  palette  set  with  its  ring  of  many-colored  dots, 
and  the  white  canvases;  even  the. smell  of  oil  was 
pleasant  to  her,  and  she  often  wished  that  her 
father,  too,  had  been  a  painter.  When,  as  once  in 
a  great  while  happened,  Bessie  asked  her  to  tea, 
she  went  with  a  sort  of  awe  over  her  mind,  and 
returned  in  a  rapture,  to  tell  her  mother  that  they 
had  had  biscuits  and  apple-sauce  for  supper,  and 
hadn't  done  any  thing  in  particular;  but  she  had 
enjoyed  it  so  much,  and  it  had  been  so  interest- 
ing !  Mrs.  Bright  never  could  understand  why 
biscuits  and  apple-sauce,  which  never  created  any 
enthusiasm  in  Eyebright  at  home,  should  be  so 
delightful  at  Bessie  Mather's,  neither  could  Eye- 
bright  explain  it,  but  so  it  was.  This  portrait- 
painting  father  was  one  of  Bessie's  chief  attractions 


8  EYEBKIGHT. 

in  Eyebright's  eyes,  but  apart  from  that,  she  waa 
sweet-tempered,  pliable,  and  affectionate,  and  —  a 
strong  bond  in  friendship  sometimes  —  she  liked  to 
follow  and  Eyebright  to  lead;  she  preferred  to 
listen  and  Eyebright  to  talk;  so  they  suited  ea^h 
other  exactly.  Bessie's  hair  was  dark ;  she  was  not 
quite  so  tall  as  Eyebright ;  but  their  heights  matched 
very  well,  as,  with  arms  round  each  other's  waist, 
they  paced  up  and  down  "  the  green,"  stopping  now 
and  then  to  take  a  cookie,  or  a  bit  of  bread  and 
butter,  from  the  dinner-pails  which  they  had  set 
under  one  of  the  trees. 

ISTot  the  least  attention  did  they  pay  to  the  rest 
of  the  scholars,  but  Eyebright  began  at  once,  as  if 
reading  from  some  book  which  had  been  laid  aside 
only  a  moment  before : 

"  At  that  moment  Lady  Jane  heard  a  tap  at  the 
door. 

"'See  who  it  is,  Margaret,'  she  said. 

"Margaret  opened  the  door,  and  there  stood  be- 
fore her  astonished  eyes  a  knight  clad  in  shining 
armor. 

"'Who  are  you,  Sir  Knight,  and  wherefore  do 
you  come  ? '  she  cried,  in  amaze. 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.      9 

"'I  am  come  to  see  the  Lady  Jane  Grey/  he 
replied ;  '  I  have  a  message  for  her  from  Lord  Guild- 
ford Dudley.* 

"  *  From  my  noble  Guildford/  shrieked  Lady  Jane, 
rushing  forward. 

"'Even  so,  madam/  replied  the  knight,  bowing 
profoundly." 

Here  Eyebright  paused  for  a  large  bite  of  bread 
and  butter. 

"  Go  on  —  please  go  on/*  pleaded  Bessie,  whose 
mouth  happened  to  be  empty  just  then. 

Mumble,  mumble,  —  "the  Lady  Jane  sank  back 
on  her  couch  '*  —  resumed  Eyebright,  speaking  rather 
thickly  by  reason  of  the  bread  and  butter.  "  She 
was  very  pale,  and  one  tear  ran  slowly  down  her 
pearly  cheek. 

" '  What  says  my  lord  ?  *  she  faintly  uttered. 

" '  He  bids  me  to  tell  you  to  hope  on,  hope  ever/ 
cried  the  knight;  'the  jailer's  daughter  has  prom- 
ised to  steal  her  father's  keys  to-night,  unbar  his 
door,  and  let  him  escape.* 

" '  Can  this  be  true  ? '  cried  Margaret  —  that  *s 
you,  you  know,  Bessie  —  be  ready  to  catch  ma 
•  Help  !  my  lady  is  about  to  faint  with  joy.*  ** 


10  EYEBRIGHT. 

Here  Eyebright  sank  on  the  grass,  while  Bessie 
made  a  dash,  and  raised  her  head. 

" '  Is  it  ?  Can  it  be  —  true  ? '  murmured  the  Lady- 
Jane," —  her  languid  hand  meanwhile  stealing  into 
the  dinner-pail,  and  producing  therefrom  a  big  led 
apple. 

"  *  It  is  true  —  the  blessed  news  is  indeed  true/ 
cried  the  true-hearted  Margaret. 

"'I  feel  new  life  in  my  veins;'  and  the  Lady 
Jane  sprang  to  her  feet."  Here  Eyebright  scrambled 
to  hers. 

"'Come,  Margaret,'  she  cried,  'we  must  decide 
in  ^'hat  garb  we  shall  greet  my  dearest  lord  when 
he  comes  from  prison.  Don't  you  think  the  cram  — 
cram —  cramberry  velvet,  with  a  net- work  of  pearls, 
and,'  — what  else  did  they  wear,  Bessie  ? " 

"  Girdles  ? "  ventured  Bessie. 

"'And  a  girdle  of  gems,*"  went  on  Eyebright, 
easily,  and  quite  regardless  of  expense.  "'Don't 
you  think  that  will  be  best,  girl  ? ' " 

"  Oh,  Eyebright,  would  she  say  '  girl  ? '  "  broke  in 
Bessie ;  "  it  doesn't  sound  polite  enough  for  the  Lady 
Jane." 

"They    all  do, —  I   assure  you   they  do.     I   can 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.     11 

show  you  the  place  in  Shakspeare.  It  don't  sound 
so  nice,  because  when  people  say  'girl/  now,  it 
always  means  servant-girl,  you  know ;  but  it  was 
different  then;  and  Lady  Jane  did  say  'my  girL' 
And  you  mustn't  interrupt  so,  Bessie,  or  we  sha'n't 
get  to  the  execution  this  recess,  and  after  school  I 
want  to  play  the  Little  Princes  in  the  Tower/* 

"I  won't  interrupt  any  more,"  said  Bessie;  "go 
on." 

" '  Yes,  the  cramberry  velvet  is  my  choice,' " 
resumed  Eyebright.  " '  Sir  Knight,  accept  my 
grateful  thanks.' 

"  He  bent  low  and  kissed  her  fair  hand. 

"'May  naught  but  good  tidings  await  you  ever- 
more!' he  murmured.  'Sorrow  should  never  light 
on  so  fair  a  being.' 

" '  Ah,'  she  said,  '  sorrow  seems  my  portion. 
What  is  rank  or  riches  or  ducality  to  a  happy 
heart?'" 

"What  did  you  say?  What  was  that  word, 
Eyebright?" 

"Ducality.  Lady  Jane's  father  was  a  duke,  yon 
know." 

"  The  knight  sighed  deeply,  and  withdrew. 


12  EYEBRIGHT. 

" '  Ah,  Guildford/  murmured  the  Lady  Jane,  laying 
her  head  on  the  shoulder  of  her  beloved  Margaret, 
'shall  I  indeed  see  you  once  more?  It  seems  too 
good  to  be  true. ' " 

Eyebright  paused,  and  bit  into  her  apple  with  an 
absorbed  expression.  She  was  meditating  the  next 
scene  in  her  romance. 

"  So  the  next  day  and  the  next  went  by,  and  still 
the  Lady  Jane  prayed  and  waited.  Night  came  at 
last,  and  now  Lord  Guildford  might  appear  at  any 
moment.  Margaret  dressed  her  lovely  mistress  in 
the  velvet  robe,  twined  the  pearls  in  her  golden 
hair,  and  clasped  the  jewelled  girdle  round  her 
slender  waist.  One  snow-white  rose  was  pinned  in 
her  bosom.  Never  had  she  looked  so  wildly  beau- 
tiful. But  still  Lord  Guildford  came  not.  At  last 
a  tap  at  the  door  was  heard. 

" 'It  is  he ! '  cried  the  Lady  Jane,  and  flew  to 
meet  liim. 

"But  alas!  it  was  not  he.  A  stern  and  gigantic 
form  filled  the  door-way,  and,  entering,  looked  at 
her  with  fiery  eyes.  N"o,  his  helmet  was  shut  tight 
Wouldn't  that'be  better,  Bessie  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  much  better.  Do  have  it  shut,"  said 
the  obliging  Bessie. 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.     13 

"  His  lineaments  were  hidden  by  his  helmet," 
resumed  Eyebright,  correcting  herself;  "but  there 
was  something  in  his  aspect  which  made  her  heart 
thrill  with  terror. 

"'You  are  looking  to  see  if  I  am  one  who  will 
never  cross  your  path  again/  he  said,  in  a  harsh 
tone.  'Lady  Jane  Grey  —  no!  Guildford  Dudley 
has  this  day  expiated  his  crimes  on  Tower  Hill.  His 
headless  trunk  is  already  buried  beneath  the  pave- 
ment  where  traitors  lie.' 

*"  Oh  no,  10 ;  in  mercy  unsay  the  word ! '  shrieked 
the  Lady  Jane,  and  with  one  quick  sob  she  sank 
lifeless  to  the  earth,  while  Margaret  sank  beside  her. 
We  won't  really  sink,  I  think,  Bessie,  because  the 
grass  stains  our  clothes  so,  and  they  get  so  mussed 
up.  Wealthy  says  she  can't  imagine  what  I  do  to 
my  things ;  there  was  so  much  grass-green  in  them 
that  it  greened  all  the  water  in  the  tub  last  wash, 
she  told  mother;  that  was  when  we  played  the 
Coramantic  Captive,  you  know,  and  I  had  to  keep 
fainting  all  the  time.  We  '11  just  make  believe  we 
S3,nk,  I  guess. 

"'Eouse  yourself,  Lady,'  went  on  the  stern  war- 
rior  'I  have   more   to   communicate.     You  are  mv 


14  EYEBRIGHT. 

prisoner.  Here  is  the  warrant  to  arrest  you,  and  the 
soldiers  wait  outside/ 

"One  dizzy  moment,  and  Lady  Jane  rallied  the 
spirit  of  her  race.  Her  face  was  deadly  pale,  but 
she  never  looked  more  lovely. 

" '  I  am  ready,'  she  said,  with  calm  dignity  ;  '  only 
give  me  time  to  breathe  one  prayer,'  and,  sinking 
at  the  foot  of  her  crucifix,  she  breathed  an  Ave  Maria 
in  such  melodious  tones  that  all  present  refrained 
from  tears. 

" '  Lead  on,'  she  murmured. 

"We  now  pass  to  the  scene  of  execution,"  pro- 
ceeded Eyebright,  whose  greatest  gift  as  a  story- 
teller was  her  power  of  getting  over  difficult  parts 
of  the  narrative  in  a  sort  of  inspired,  rapid  way. 
"I  guess  we  won't  have  any  trial,  Bessie,  because 
trials  are  so  hard,  and  I  don't  know  exactly  how  to 
do  tliem.  It  was  a  chill  morning  in  early  spring. 
The  sun  had  hid  his  face  from  the  awful  spectacle. 
The  bell  was  tolling,  the  crowd  assembled,  and  the 
executioner  stood  leaning  on  the  handle  of  his  dread- 
ful axe.     The  block  was  ready !  —  " 

"Oh,  Eyebright,  it  is  awful!"  interposed  Bessie, 
on  the  point  of  tears. 


LADY  JANE  AND  LORD  GUILDFORD.     15 

"  At  last  the  door  of  the  Tower  opened,"  went  on 
the  relentless  Eyebright,  ''and  the  slender  form  of 
the  Lady  Jane  appeared,  led  by  the  captain  of  the 
guard,  and  followed  by  a  long  procession  of  monks 
and  soldiers.  Her  faithful  Margaret  was  by  her 
side,  drowned  in  tears.  She  was  so  young,  so  fair 
and  so  sweet  that  all  hearts  pitied  her,  and  when 
she  turned  to  the  priest  and  said,  '  Fa-ther,  do  not 
we-ep '  —  " 

Eyebright  here  broke  down  and  began  to  cry. 
As  for  Bessie,  she  had  been  sobbing  hard,  with 
her  handkerchief  over  her  eyes  for  nearly  two 
mmutes. 

" '  I  am  go-ing  to  hea-ven,' "  faltered  Eyebright, 
overcome  with  emotion.  "  *  Thank  my  -cousin, 
Bloody  Mary,  for  sending  me  th-ere.' " 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Mr.  Bright's  house  ? " 
said  a  voice  just  behind  them. 

The  girls  jumped  and  looked  round.  In  the  excite- 
ment of  the  execution,  they  had  wandered,  without 
knowing  it,  to  the  far  edge  of  the  green,  which 
bordered  on  the  public  road.  A  gentleman  on 
horseback  had  stopped  close  beside  them,  and  was 
looking  at  them  with  an  amused  expressio^i,  which 


16  EYEBRIGHT. 

changed  to  one  of  pity,  as  the  two  tear-stained  facea 
met  his  eye. 

"  Is  any  thing  the  matter  ?  Are  you  in  any  trou- 
ble ? "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Oh  no,  sir ;  not  a  bit.  We  are  only  playing ; 
we  are  having  a  splendid  time,"  explained  Eye- 
bright. 

And  then,  anxious  to  change  the  subject,  and  also 
to  get  back  to  Lady  Jane  and  her  woes,  she  made 
haste  with  the  direction  for  which  the  stranger  had 
asked. 

"Just  down  there,  sir;  turn  the  first  street,  and 
it 's  the  fourth  house  from  the  corner.  ISTo,  the  fifth, 
— which  is  it,  Bessie  ? " 

"Let  me  see,"  replied  Bessie,  counting  on  hei 
fingers.  "Mrs.  Clapp's,  Mr.  Potter's,  Mr.  Wheel- 
wright's, —  it 's  the  fourth,  Eyebright." 

The  gentleman  thanked  them  and  rode  away. 
As  he  did  so,  the  bell  tinkled  at  the  schoolhouse 
door. 

"Oh,  there's  that  old  bell.  I  don't  believe  it's 
time  one  bit.  Miss  Fitch  must  have  set  the  clock 
forward,"  declared  Eyebright. 

Alas,  no;  Miss  Fitch  had   done   nothing  of  the 


LA.DY  JANE  AND   LORD    GUILDFORD.  17 

sort,  for  at  that  moment  clang  went  the  town-clock, 
which,  as  every  one  knew,  kept  the  best  of  time, 
and  by  which  all  the  clocks  and  watches  in  the 
neighborhood  were  set. 

"Pshaw,  it  really  is!"  cried  Eyebright.  "How 
short  recess  seems !    Not  longer  than  a  minute." 

"  Not  more  than  half  a  minute,"  chimed  in  Bessie. 
"  Oh,  Eyebright,  it  was  too  lovely  !     I  hate  to  go  in." 

The  cheeks  and  eyelids  of  the  almost  executed 
Lady  Jane  and  her  bower  maiden  were  in  a  sad 
state  of  redness  when  they  entered  the  schoolroom, 
but  nobody  took  any  particular  notice  of  them. 
Miss  Fitch  was  used  to  such  appearances,  and  so 
were  the  other  boys  and  girls,  when  Eyebright  and 
Bessie  Mather  had  spent  their  recess,  as  they  almost 
always  did,  in  playing  the  game  which  they  called 
"  acting  stories." 


18  •  BYBBKIGHT. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

t 

AFTER    SCHOOL. 

|OUE  o'clock  seemed  slow  in  coming ;  but  it 
struck  at  last,  as  hours  always  will  if  we 
wait  long  enough;  and  Miss  Fitch  dis- 
missed school,  after  a  little  bit  of  Bible-reading  and  a 
short  prayer.  People  nowadays  are  trying  to  do  away 
with  Bibles  and  prayers  in  schools,  but  I  think  the 
few  words  which  Miss  Fitch  said  in  the  Lord's  ear 
every  night  —  and  they  were  very  few  and  simple 
—  sent  the  little  ones  away  with  a  sense  of  the 
Father's  love  and  nearness  which  it  was  good  for 
them  to  feel.  All  the  girls  and  some  of  the  boys 
waited  to  kiss  Miss  Fitch  for  good-night.  It  had 
been  a  pleasant  day.  N'obody,  for  a  wonder,  had 
received  a  fault-mark  of  any  kind;  nothing  had 
gone  wrong,  and  the  children  departed  with  a  gen- 
eral bright  sense  that  such  days  do  not  often  come. 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  19 

and  that  what  remained  of  this  ought  to  be  made 
tlie  most  of. 

There  were  still  three  hours  and  a  half  of  precious 
daylight.     What  should  be  done  with  them  ? 

Eyebright  and  a  knot  of  girls,  whose  homes  lay 
in  the  same  direction  with  hers,  walked  slowly  down 
the  street  together.  It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon, 
with  sunshine  of  that  delicious  sort  which  only 
June  knows  how  to  brew,  —  warm,  but  not  burning ; 
bright,  but  not  dazzling.  It  lay  over  the  walk  in 
broad  golden  patches,  broken  by  soft,  purple-blue 
shadows  from  the  elms,  which  had  just  put  out  their 
light  leaves  and  looked  like  fountains  of  green  spray 
tossed  high  in  air.  There  was  a  sweet  smell  of 
hyacinths  and  growing  gTass  and  cherry-blossoms; 
altogether  it  was  not  an  afternoon  to  spend  in 
the  house,  and  the  children  felt  the  fact. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  home  yet,"  said  Molly  Prime. 
"  Let 's  do  something  pleasant  all  together  instead." 

"  I  wish  my  swing  were  ready,  and  we  *d  all  have 
a  swing  in  it,"  said  Laura  Wheelwright.  "  Tom  said 
bo  would  put  it  up  to-day,  but  mother  begged  him 
not,  because  she  said  I  had  a  cold  and  would  be 
sure  to  run  in  the  damp  grass  and  wet  my  feet. 


20  EYEBRIGHT. 

What  shall  we  do?  We  might  go  for  a  walk  to 
Round  Pond ;  will  you  ? " 

"JSTo;  I'UteU  you,"  burst  in  Eyebright.  "Don't 
let's  do  that,  because  if  we  do,  the  big  boys  will 
see  us  and  want  to  come  too,  and  then  we  sha'n't 
have  any  fun.  Let's  all  go  into  our  barn;  there's 
lots  of  hay  up  in  the  loft,  and  we'll  open  the  big 
window  and  make  thrones  of  hay  to  sit  on  and  tell 
stories.  It'll  be  just  as  good  as  out-doors,  and  no 
one  will  know  where  we  are  or  come  to  interrupt 
us.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  nice  ?  Do  come, 
Laura." 

"Delicious!  Come  along,  girls,"  answered  Laura, 
crumpling  her  soft  sun-bonnet  into  a  heap,  and 
throwing  it  up  into  the  air,  as  if  it  had  been  a  ball. 

"Oh,  may  we  come  too  ?'*  pleaded  little  Tom  and 
Eosy  Bury. 

"  No,  you  can't,"  answered  their  sister,  Kitty, 
sharply.  "You'd  be  tumbling  down  and  getting 
frightened,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  You'd  better 
run  right  home  by  yourselves." 

The  little  ones  were  silent,  but  they  looked  anx- 
iously at  Eyebright. 

"  I  think    they  might    come,  Kitty,"  she    said 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  21 

*'  They  're  almost  always  good,  and  there 's  nothing 
in  the  loft  to  hurt  them.     Yes ;  they  can  come." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  if  you  want  the  bother  of  them. 
I  *m  sure  I  don't  mind,'*  replied  Kitty. 

Then  they  all  ran  into  the  barn.  The  eight  pairs 
of  double-soled  boots  clattered  on  the  stairs  like 
a  sudden  hail-storm  on  a  roof.  Brindle,  old  Charley, 
and  a  strange  horse  who  seemed  to  be  visiting  them, 
who  were  munching  their  evening  hay,  raised  their 
heads,  astonished ;  while  a  furtive  rustle  from  some  dim 
corner  in  the  loft  showed  that  Mrs.  Top-knot  or  Mrs. 
Cochin-China,  hidden  away  there,  heard  too,  and  did 
not  like  the  sound  at  all. 

"  Oh,  isn't  this  lovely ! "  cried  Kitty  Bury,  kicking 
the  fine  hay  before  her  till  it  rose  in  clouds.  "  Barns 
are  so  nice,  I  think. " 

"Yes,  but  don't  kick  that  way,"  said  Eomaine 
Smith,  choking  and  sneezing.  "  Oh  dear,  I  shall 
smother.  Eyebright,  please  open  the  window.  Quick, 
I  am  strangling.  '* 

Eyebright,  who  was  sneezing  too,  made  haste  to 
undo  the  rusty  hook,  and  swing  the  big  wooden  shut- 
ter back  against  the  outside  wall  of  the  barn.  It 
made  an  enormous  square  opening,  which  seemed  to 


22  EYEBRIGHT. 

•let  in  all  out-doors  at  once.  Dark  places  grew  light, 
the  soft  pure  air,  glad  of  the  chance,  flew  in  to  mix 
with  the  sweet,  heavy  smell  of  the  dried  grasses ;  it 
was  as  good  as  being  out-doors,  as  Eyebright  had 
said. 

The  girls  pulled  little  heaps  of  hay  together  for 
seats,  and  ranged  themselves  in  a  half-circle  round 
the  window,  with  Mr.  Bright's  orchard,  pink  and 
white  with  fruit  blossoms,  underneath  them;  and 
beyond  that,  between  Mr.  Bury's  house  and  barn,  a 
glimpse  of  valley  and  blue  river,  and  the  long  range 
of  wooded  hills  on  the  opposite  bank.  It  was  a 
charming  out-look,  and  though  the  children  could 
not  have  put  into  words  what  pleased  them,  they  all 
liked  it,  and  were  the  happier  for  its  being  there. 

"  N'ow  we  're  ready.  Who  will  tell  the  first  story  ? " 
asked  Molly  Prime,  briskly. 

"  I  '11  tell  the  first,"  said  Eyebright,  always  ready  to 
take  the  lead.  *'  It's  a  splendid  story.  I  read  it  in  a 
book.  Once  upon  a  time,  long,  long  ago,  there  was 
a  little  tailor,  who  was  very  good,  and  his  name  was 
Hans.  He  lived  all  alone  in  his  little  house,  and  had 
to  work  very  hard  because  he  was  poor.  One  day  as 
he  sat  sewing  away,  some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  28 

" '  Come  in/  said  Hans,  and  an  old,  old  man  came  in 
He  was  wrapped  up  in  a  cloak,  and  looked  very  cold 
and  tired. 

" '  Please  may  I  warm  myself  by  your  fire  ? '  he  said. 

« <  Why  of  course  you  may,'  —  said  good  little  Hans. 
'  A  warm  at  the  fire  costs  nothing,  and  you  are  wel- 
come/ 

"  So  the  old  man  sat  down  and  warmed  him- 
self. 

" '  Have  you  come  a  long  way  to-day  ? '    Hans  said. 

" '  Yes,'  said  the  old  man,  — '  a  long,  long  way.  And 
I  'm  ever  so  cold  and  hungry.  * 

" '  Poor  old  fellow, '  thought  Hans.  '  I  wish  I  had 
something  for  him  to  eat ;  but  I  haven't,  because  there 
is  nothing  for  my  own  dinner  except  a  piece  of  bread 
and  a  cup  of  milk.'  But  then  he  thought, '  I  can  do 
with  a  little  less  for  once.  I  'U  give  the  old  man  half 
of  that.'  So  he  broke  the  bread  in  two,  and  poured 
half  the  milk  into  another  cup,  and  gave  them  to  the 
old  man,  who  thanked  him,  and  ate  it  up.  But  he 
still  looked  so  hungry,  that  Hans  thought,  'Poor 
fellow,  he  is  a  great  deal  older  than  I.  I  can  go 
without  a  dinner  for  once,  and  I  '11  give  him  the  rest 
Wasn't  that  good  of  Hans  ? " 


24  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  Yes,  very  good,"  replied  the  children,  beginning  to 
get  interested. 

"When  the  old  man  had  eaten  up  all  the  bread 
and  milk,  he  looked  much  better.  And  he  got  up  to 
go,  and  said,  '  You  have  been  very  good,  and  given 
ine  all  your  own  dinner.  I  wish  I  had  something  to 
give  you  in  return,  but  1  have  only  got  this,'  and  he 
took  from  under  his  cloak  a  shabby,  old  coffee-mill  -• 
the  shabbiest  old  thing  you  ever  saw,  all  cut  up  with 
jack-knives,  you  know,  and  scratched  with  pins,  with 
ink-spots  on  it, "  —  Eyebright,  drawing  on  her  imag- 
ination for  shabby  particulars,  was  thinking,  you 
see,  of  her  desk  at  school,  which  certainly  was 
shabby. 

"  Hans  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing ;  but  the 
old  man  said  severely,  'Don't  smile.  This  mill  is 
better  than  it  looks.  It  is  a  magic  mill.  Whenever 
you  want  any  thing,  you  have  only  to  give  the  handle 
one  turn,  and  say, ''  Little  mill,  grind  so  and  so,  open 
sesame,"  and,  no  matter  what  it  is,  the  mill  will  begin 
of  itself  and  grind  it  for  you.  Then  when  you  have 
enough,  you  must  say,  "Little  mill,  stop  grinding, 
Abracadabra, "  and  it  will  stop.  Good-by, '  and  before 
Hans  could  say  a  word,  the  old  man  hurried  out  of 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  25 

the  door  and  was  gone,  leaving  the  queer  old  mill 
behind  him. 

"Of  course  Hans  thought  he  must  he  crazy." 

"  I  should  have  thought  so,"  said  Bessie  Mather, 
who  was  cuddled  in  the  hay  close  to  Eyebright. 

"  Well,  he  wasn't !  Hans  at  first  thought  he  would 
throw  the  mill  away,  it  looked  so  dirty  and  horrid, 
but  then  he  thought,  '  I  might  as  well  try  it.  Let  me 
see,  what  do  I  want  most  at  this  moment  ?  why,  my 
dinner  to  be  sure.  I  gave  mine  to  the  old  man.  I  '11 
ask  for  a  goose  —  roast  goose,  with  hot  buttered  rolls 
and  coffee.  That 's  a  dinner  for  a  prince,  let  alone  a 
tailor  like  me.' 

"  So  he  gave  the  handle  a  turn,  and  said  to  the  mill, 
'  Little  mill,  grind  a  fat  roast  goose,  open  sesame,' — 
not  believing  a  bit  that  it  would,  you  know.  And, 
just  think !  all  of  a  sudden,  the  handle  began  to  fly 
round  as  fast  as  the  wdnd,  and,  in  one  second,  out  of 
the  top  came  a  beautiful  roast  goose,  all  covered  with 
stuffing  and  gravy.  It  came  so  fast  that  Hans  had  to 
catch  hold  of  its  drumsticks  and  take  it  in  his  hand, 
there  wasn't  time  to  fetch  a  dish.  He  was  so  sur- 
prised that  he  stood  stock-still,  staring  at  the  mil] 
with  his  mouth  open,  and  the  handle  went  on  turning, 

2 


26  EYEBRIGHT. 

and  another  goose  began  to  come  out  of  the  top. 
Then  Hans  was  frightened,  for  he  thought,  'What 
shall  I  do  with  two  roast  geese  at  once?'  and  he 
shouted  loudly, '  Little  mill,  stop  grinding,  Abracadab- 
ra, and  the  mill  stopped,  and  the  other  goose,  which 
had  only  began  to  come  out,  you  see,  doubled  itself 
up,  and  went  back  again  into  the  inside  of  the  miU 
as  fast  as  it  came. 

"  Then  Hans  fetched  a  pitcher,  and  he  said, '  Little 
mill,  grind  hot  coffee  with  cream  and  sugar,'  and 
immediately  a  stream  of  coffee  came  pouring  ou^,  till 
the  pitcher  was  full.  Then  he  ground  some  delicious 
rolls  and  butter,  and  then  he  set  the  mill  on  his  shelf, 
and  danced  about  the  shop  for  joy. 

" '  Hans,'  he  said,  *  your  fortune  is  made.' 
"  And  so  it  was.  Because,  you  know,  if  people  came 
and  asked,  '  How  soon  could  you  make  me  a  coat  ? ' 
Hans  just  had  to  answer, '  Why,  to-morrow  of  course ; ' 
and  then,  when  they  were  gone,  he  would  go  to  the 
mill,  and  say,  'Little  mill,  grind  a  coat  to  fit  Mr. 
Jones,'  and  there  it  would  be.  The  coats  all  fitted 
splendidly  and  wore  twice  as  long  as  other  coats,  and 
all  the  town  said  that  Hans  was  the  best  tailor  that 
ever  was,  and  they  all  came  to  him  for  things,  and 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  27 

he  got  very  rich  and  took  a  big  shop.  But  he  was 
just  as  kind  to  poor  people  as  ever,  and  the  mill 
did  every  thing  he  wanted.     Wasn't  it  nice  ? " 

"  I  wish  there  really  was  a  mill  like  that ;  I  know 
what  I  would  grind,"  said  Eomaine. 

"  Well,  what  would  you,  Eomy  ? " 

"  A  guitar  with  a  blue  ribbon,  like  my  cousin  Clara 
Cunningham's.  She  puts  the  ribbon  round  her  neck 
and  sings, and  it's  just  lovely." 

"  But  you  don't  know  how  to  play,  do  you  ? "  in- 
quired Molly. 

"  'No,  but  afterwards  I  'd  grind  a  big  music-box,  and 
just  as  I  began  to  play  —  no,  to  pretend  to  play  —  1  'd 
set  it  off,  and  it  would  sound  as  if  I  was  playing." 

"  Pshaw,  I  'd  grind  something  a  great  deal  better 
than  that,"  cried  Kitty.  "  I  'd  grind  a  real  piano,  and 
I  'd  learn  to  play  on  it  my  own  self.  I  wouldn't  have 
any  old  make-believe  music-boxes  to  play  for  me." 

"  You  never  saw  a  guitar,  I  guess,"  rejoined  Eo- 
maine, pouting,  "or  you  wouldn't  think  so." 

"  I  'd  grind  a  kitten,"  put  in  Eosy,  "  a  white  one, 
just  like  my  Snowdrop.  Snowdrop  has  runned 
away.     I  don't  know  where  she  is." 

"  How  funny  she  'd  look,  coming  out  of  the  coffee- 


28  EYEBBIGHT. 

mill,  mewing  and  purring,"  said  Eyebright.  "Now  slop 
telling  what  you  'd  grind,  and  let  me  go  on.  Hans 
had  a  neighbor,  a  very  bad  man,  whose  name  was 
Carl.  When  he  saw  how  rich  Hans  was  getting  to 
be,  he  became  very  enverous." 

«  Very  what  ? " 

"Enverous.     He  didn't  like  it,  you  know." 

"  Don  t  you  mean  envious  ? "  said  Molly  Prime. 

"Yes,  didn't  I  say  so  ?  Mother  says  I  mispro 
nounce  awfully,  and  it 's  because  I  read  so  much  to 
myself.  I  meant  enver  — •■  envious,  of  course.  Well, 
—  Carl  noticed  that  every  day  when  people  had 
gone  home  to  their  dinners,  Hans  shut  his  door,  and 
stayed  alone  for  an  hour,  and  didn't  let  anybody 
come  in.  This  made  him  suspect  something.  So  one 
day  he  bored  a  little  round  hole  in  the  back  door  of 
Hans'  house,  and  he  sat  down  and  put  his  eye  to 
it,  and  thought,  '  Here  I  stay,  if  it  is  a  month,  tiU 
I  find  out  what  that  little  rascal  does  when  he  is 
alone.' 

"  So  he  watched  and  watched,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
didn't  see  any  thing  but  Hans  sewing  away  and  wait- 
ing on  his  customers.  But  at  last  the  clock  struck 
twelve,  and  then  Hans  shut  his  door  and  locked  it 


AFTEil   SCHOOL.  29 

tight,  and  Carl  said  to  himself, '  Ha,  ha,  now  I  have 
him!' 

"  Hans  brought  out  the  coffee-mill,  and  set  it  on  the 
table,  and  Carl  heard  him  say, '  Little  mill,  grind  roast 
veal,  open  sesame,'  and  a  nice  piece  of  veal  came  out 
of  the  jnill,  and  fell  into  a  platter  which  Hans  held 
to  catch  it,  and  then  Carl  snapped  his  fingers  and 
jumped  for  joy,  and  ran  off  to  the  wharf,  where  there 
was  a  pirate  ship  whose  captain  was  a  friend  of  his, 
and  he  said  to  the  pirate  captain,  'Our  fortunes  are 
made/  , 

" '  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  the  pirate. 

"'I  mean,'  said  Carl,  'that  that  little  villain,  Hans 
the  tailor,  has  got  a  fairy  mill  which  grinds  every  thing 
he  asks  for,  and  I  know  where  he  keeps  it,  and  what 
he  says  to  make  it  grind,  and  if  you  will  go  shares* 
I  '11  steal  it  this  very  night,  and  we  '11  sail  off  to  a 
desert  island,  and  there  we  '11  grind  gold  and  grind 
gold  till  we  are  as  rich  as  all  the  people  in  the  world 
put  together.     What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  * 

"  So  the  pirate  captain  was  delighted,  of  course,  be- 
cause you  know  that 's  all  that  pirates  want,  just  to 
get  gold,  and  he  said  '  Yes,'  and  that  very  night,  when 
Hans  was  asleep,  Carl  crept  in,  stole  the  mill,  ran  to 


30  EYEBRIGHT. 

the  wharf,  and  he  and  the  pirate  captain  sailed 
away,  and  Hans  never  saw  his  mill  again." 

"  Oh,  what  a  shame  !  Poor  little  Hans,"  cried  the 
children. 

"  Well,  it  didn't  make  so  much  matter,"  explained 
Eyebright,  comforting  them,  "  because  Hans  by  this 
time  had  got  to  be  so  well  known,  and  people  liked  him 
so  much,  that  he  kept  on  getting  richer  and  richer,  and 
was  always  kind  to  the  poor,  and  happy,  so  he  didn't 
miss  his  mill  much.  The  pirate  ship  sailed  and 
sailed,  and  by  and  by,  when  they  were  'way  out  at  sea, 
the  captain  said  to  Carl,  '  Suppose  we  try  the  mill,  and 
see  if  it  is  really  as  good  as  you  think/ 

" '  Very  well,'  said  Carl,  '  what  shall  we  grind  ? ' 

"  '  We  won't  grind  any  gold  yet,'  said  the  captain, 
because  gold  is  heavy,  and  we  can  do  it  better  on  the 
desert  island.  We  '11  just  grind  some  little  thing  now 
for  fun.'  Then  he  called  out  to  the  cook,  and  said, 
'Hollo,  cook,  is  there  any  thing  wanting  there  in 
your  kitchen  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  sir,  please,'  said  the  cook, '  we  're  out  of  salt ; 
we  sailed  so  quick  that  I  couldn't  get  any/ 

"  So  Carl  fetched  the  mill,  and  set  it  on  the  cabin 
table,  and  said,  '  Little  mill,  grind  salt,  open  sesame.' 


AFTER   SCHOOL  31 

*'And  immediately  a  stream  of  \)eautiful  white  salt 
came  pouring  out,  till  two  bags  which  the  cook  had 
brought  were  quite  full,  and  then  the  captain  said, 
*  That 's  enough,  now  stop  it/ 

"  Just  at  that  moment  Carl  recollected  that  he  didnt 
know  how  to  stop  the  mill.'' 

Here  Eyebright  made  a  dramatic  pause. 

"Oh,  what  next?  What  did  he  do?"  cried  the 
others. 

"He  said  all  the  words  he  could  think  of,"  con- 
tinued Eyebright;  " '  Shut,  sesame  ! '  and  '  Stop ! '  and 
'  Please  stop  ! '  and  '  Don't ! '  and  ever  so  many  others ; 
but  he  couldn't  say  the  right  one,  because  he  didn't 
know  it,  you  see  !  So  the  salt  kept  pouring  on,  and 
it  filled  all  the  bags,  and  boxes,  and  barrels,  and  — 
and  —  all  the  —  salt-cellars,  in  the  ship,  and  it  ran 
on  to  the  table,  and  it  ran  on  to  the  floor ;  and  the 
pirate  captain  caught  hold  of  the  handle  and  tried  to 
keep  it  from  turning ;  and  it  gave  him  such  a  pinch 
that  he  put  his  fingers  into  his  mouth,  and  danced 
with  pain.  Then  he  was  so  mad  that  he  got  an  axe 
and  chopped  the  mill  in  two,  to  punish  it  for  knock- 
ing him.  But  immediately  another  handle  sprouted 
out  on  the  half  whir.h  hadn't  any,  and  that  made  two 


32  EYEBRIGHl 

mills,  and  tlie  salt  came  faster  than  ever.  At  last, 
when  it  was  up  to  their  knees,  Carl  and  the  pirate 
captam  lan  to  the  deck  to  consult  what  they  should 
do;  and,  while  they  were  consulting,  the  mills  went 
on  grinding.  And  the  ship  got  so  full,  and  the  salt 
was  so  heavy,  that,  all  of  a  sudden,  down  they  all 
sank,  ship  and  Carl  and  the  pirates  and  the  mills  and 
all,  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea." 

Eyebright  came  to  a  full  stop.  The  children  drew 
long  breaths. 

"  Didn't  anybody  ever  get  the  mill  again  ?  "  asked 
Bessie. 

"  !N"o,  never.  There  they  both  are  at  the  bottom, 
grinding  away  as  hard  as  they  can ;  and  that 's  the 
reason  why  the  sea  is  so  salt ! '' 

"  Is  it  salt  ? "  asked  little  Eosy,  who  never  had 
seen  the  sea. 

''  Why,  Eosy,  of  course.  Pidn't  you  ever  eat  cod- 
fish ?  They  come  out  of  the  sea,  and  they  're  just 
as  salt  as  salt  can  be,"  said  Tom,  who  was  about  a 
year  older  than  Eosy. 

"  Now,  Molly,  you  tell  one,"  said  Eyebright.  "  TeJ 
us  that  one  which  your  grandma  told  you,  —  the  fstory 
about  the  Indian.     Don't  you  recollect  ?  " 


AFTER    SCHOOL.  33 

"Oh,  yes  ;  the  one  I  told  you  that  day  in  the  pas- 
ture. It 's  a  true  story,  too,  every  bit  of  it.  My  grandma 
knew  the  lady  it  happened  to.  It  was  ever  and  ever 
so  long  ago,  when  the  country  was  all  over  woods 
and  Indians,  you  know,  and  this  lady  went  to  the 
West  to  live  with  her  husband.  He  was  a  pio-nary, 
—  no,  pioneer,  —  no,  missionary,  —  that  was  what  he 
was.  Missionaries  teach  poor  people  and  preach,  and 
this  one  was  awfully  poor  himself,  for  all  the  money 
he  had  was  just  a  little  bit  which  a  church  in  the 
East  gave  him. 

"  Well,  after  they  had  lived  at  the  West  for  a  year, 
the  missionary  had  to  come  back,  because  some  of 
the  people  said  he  wasn't  orthodox.  I  don't  know 
what  that  means.  I  asked  father  once,  and  he  said 
it  meant  so  many  things  that  he  didn't  think  he 
could  explain  them  all ;  but  ma,  she  said,  it  means 
*  agreeing  with  the  neighbors.'  Anyhow,  the  mis- 
sionary had  to  come  back  to  tell  the  folks  that  he 
was  orthodox,  and  his  wife  and  children  had  to  stay 
behind,  in  the  woods,  with  wolves  and  bears  and 
Indians  close  by. 

"  The  very  day  after  he  started,  his  wife  was  sitting 
hv  the  fire  with  her  baby  in  her  lap,  when  the  dooi 
2*  c 


34  EYEBRIGHT. 

opened,  and  a  great,  enormous  Indian  walked  in  and 
straight  ug  to  her. 

"  I  guess  she  was  frightened ;  don't  you  ? 

" '  He  gone  ? '  asked  the  Indian  in  broken  EngHsh. 

"  '  Yes,'  she  said. 

"  Then  the  Indian  held  out  his  hands  and  said,  — 
'  Pappoose.     Give.' " 

"  Oh,  my ! "  cried  Eomaine.  "  I  'd  have  screamed 
right  out." 

"Well,  the  lady  didn't,''  continued  Molly.  "What 
was  the  use  ?  There  wasn't  any  one  to  scream  to, 
you  know.  Beside,  she  thought  perhaps  the  Indian 
was  trying  her  to  see  if  she  trusted  him.  So  she  let 
him  take  the  child,  and  he  marched  away  with  it, 
not  saying  another  word. 

"  All  that  night,  and  all  next  day,  she  watched  and 
waited,  but  he  did  not  come  back.^  She  began  to 
think  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things,  —  that  perhaps  he 
had  killed  the  child.  But  just  at  sunset  he  came 
with  the  baby  in  his  arms,  and  the  little  fellow  was 
dressed  like  a  chief,  in  a  suit  of  doe-skins  which  the 
squaws  had  made,  with  cunning  little  moccasins  on 
his  feet  and  a  feather  stuck  in  his  hair.  The  Indian 
put  him  in  his  mother's  lap,  and  said,  — 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  85 

"  *  Now  led  man  know  white  squaw  friend,  for  she 
not  afraid  give  child/ 

"  And  after  that,  all  the  time  her  hushand  was 
gone,  the  Indians  brought  venison  and  game,  and 
were  real  kind  to  the  lady.     Wasn't  it  nice  ?  '* 

The  children  drew  long  breaths  of  relief 

"I  don't  think  I  could  have  been  so  brave,"  de- 
clared Kitty. 

"  Now  I  '11  tell  you  a  story  which  I  made  up  my- 
self," said  Komaine,  who  was  of  a  sentimental  turn. 
'*It's  called  the  Lady  and  the  Barberry  Bush. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  long,  long  ago,  there  was  a 
lady  who  loved  a  barberry  bush,  because  its  berries 
were  so  pretty,  and  tasted  so  nice  and  sour.  She 
used  to  water  it,  and  come  at  evening  to  lay  her 
snow-white  hand  upon  its  leaves." 

"  Didn't  they  prick  ? "  inquired  Molly,  who  was  as 
practical  as  Eomaine  was  sentimental. 

"  No,  of  course  they  didn't  prick,  because  the  bar- 
berry bush  was  enchanted,  you  know.  Nobody  else 
cared  for  barberry  bushes  except  the  lady.  All  the 
rest  liked  roses  and  honeysuckles  best,  and  the  poor 
barberry  was  very  glad  when  it  saw  the  lady  coming. 
At  last,  one  night,  when  she  was  watering  it,  it  spoke, 


36  EYEBRIGHT. 

and  it  said,  — '  Tlie  hour  of  deliverance  has  arrived. 
Lady,  behold  in  me  a  Prince  and  your  lover ! '  and  it 
changed  into  a  beautiful  knight  with  barberries  in  his 
helmet,  and  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  they  were  very 
happy  for  ever  after." 

"  Oh,  how  short ! "  complained  the  rest.  "  Eye- 
bright's  was  a  great  deal  longer." 

''Yes,  but  she  read  hers  in  a  book,  you  know. 
I  made  mine  up,  all  myself." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  a  'tory  now,"  broke  in  little  Eosy. 
*'  It 's  a  nice  'tory,  —  a  real  nice  one.  Once  there  was 
a  little  girl,  and  she  wanted  some  pie.  She  wanted 
some  weal  wich  pie.  And  her  mother  whipped  her 
because  she  wanted  the  weal  wich  pie.  Then  she  kied 
And  her  mother  whipped  her.  Then  she  kied  again. 
And  her  mother  whipped  her  again.  And  the  wich 
pie  made  her  sick.  And  she  died.  She  couldn't  det 
well,  'cause  the  dottor  he  didn't  come.  He  couldn't 
come.  There  wasn't  any  dottor.  He  was  eated  u]) 
by  tigers.     Isn't  that  a  nice  'tory  ?  " 

The  girls  laughed  so  hard  over  Eosy's  story  that, 
much  abashed,  she  hid  her  face  in  ELitty's  lap,  and 
wouldn't  raise  it  for  a  long  time.  Eyebright  tried  to 
comfort  her. 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  37 

"  It 's  a  real  nice  story,"  she  said.  **  The  nicest  of 
alL  I  'm  so  glad  you  came,  Eosy,  else  you  wouldn't 
have  told  it  to  us." 

"Did  you  hear  me  tell  how  the  dottor  wii« 
eated  up  by  tigers?"  asked  Eosy,  peeping  with 
one  eye  from  out  of  the  protection  of  Kitty 'a 
apron. 

"  Yes,  indeed.     That  was  splendid.'' 

"  I  made  that  up ! "  said  Eosy,  triumphantly  re 
vealing  her  whole  face,  joyful  again,  and  bright  as  a 
full  moon. 

"  Who  '11  be  next  ? "  asked  Eyebright. 

"  I  will,"  said  Laura.  "  Listen  now,  for  it 's  going 
to  be  perfectly  awful,  I  can  tell  you.  It's  about 
robbers." 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  Laura  lowered  her  voice, 
into  a  sort  of  half-groan,  half- whisper. 

"  There  was  once  a  girl  who  lived  all  alone  by  her- 
self, with  just  one  Newfoundland  dog  for  company. 
He  wasn't  a  big  Newfoundland,  —  he  was  pretty 
small.  One  night,  when  it  was  all  dark  and  she  was 
just  going  to  sleep,  she  heard  a  rustle  imderneath  her 
bed." 

The  children  had  drawn  closer  toojether  since  Laura 


38  EYBBRIGHT. 

began,  and  at  this  point  Komaine  gave  a  loud 
shriek. 

*'  What  was  that  ?"  she  asked. 

All  held  their  breaths.  The  loft  was  getting  a  little 
dusky  now,  and  sure  enough,  an  unmistakable  rustle, 
was  heard  among  the  hay  in  a  distant  corner  1 

"  This  loft  would  be  a  very  bad  place  for  a  robber," 
said  Eyebright,  in  a  voice  which  trembled  consider- 
ably, though  she  tried  to  keep  it  steady.  "  A  robbei 
wouldn't  have  much  chance  with  all  our  men  down 
below.   James,  you  know,  girls,  and  Samuel  and  John." 

"  Yes, —  and  Benjamin  and  Charles,"  chimed  in  the 
quick-witted  Molly;  "and  your  father,  Eyebright, 
and  Henry,  —  all  down  there  in  the  barn." 

While  they  recited  this  formidable  list,  the  little 
geese  were  staring  with  wide-open,  affrighted  eyes 
into  the  corner  where  the  rustle  had  been  heard. 

"And,  — "  continued  Eyebright,  hei  voice  trem- 
bling more  than  ever,  "  they  have  all  got  pitchforks, 
you  know,  and  guns,  and  —  oh,  mercy !  what  was 
that  ?     The  hay  moved,  girls,  it  did  move,  I  saw  it ! " 

All  scrambled  to  their  feet  prepared  to  fly,  but  be- 
fore any  one  could  start,  the  hay  in  the  corner  parted, 
and,  cackling  and  screaming,  out  flew  Mrs.  Top-knot, 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  89 

tired  of  her  hidden  nest,  or  of  the  story-telling,  and 
resolved  on  escape.  Eyebright  ran  after,  and  shoo-ed 
her  downstairs.  Then  she  came  back  laughing,  and 
said,  — 

"  How  silly  we  were  !     Go  on,  Laura." 

But  the  nerves  of  the  party  were  too  shaky  still  to 
enjoy  robber-stories,  and  Eyebright,  perceiving  this, 
made  a  diversion. 

"  I  know  what  we  all  want,"  she  said ;  "  some 
apples.  Stay  here  all  of  you,  and  I'll  run  in  and  get 
them.     I  won't  be  but  a  minute." 

*'  Mayn't  I  come  too  ? "  asked  the  inseparable 
Bessie. 

"  Yes,  do,  and  you  can  help  me  carry  'em.  Don't 
tell  any  stories  while  we  're  gone,  girls.  Come  along, 
Bess." 

Wealthy  happened  to  be  in  the  buttery,  skimming 
cream,  so  no  one  spied  them  as  they  ran  through  the 
kitchen  and  down  the  cellar  stairs.  The  cellar  was  a 
very  large  one.  In  fact,  there  were  half  a  dozen  cel- 
lars opening  one  into  the  other,  like  the  rooms  of  a 
house.  Wood  and  coal  were  kept  in  some  of  them, 
in  others  vegetables,  and  there  was  a  swinging  shelf 
where  stood  Wealthy's  cold  meat,  and  odds  and  enda 


40  EYEBRIGHT. 

of  food.  All  the  cellars  were  dark  at  this  hour  of  the 
afternoon,  very  dark,  and  Bessie  held  Eyebright's 
hand  tight,  as,  with  the  ease  of  one  who  knew  the 
way  perfectly,  she  sped  toward  the  apple-room. 

In  the  blackest  corner  of  all,  Eyebright  paused, 
fumbled  a  little  on  an  almost  invisible  shelf  with  a 
jar  which  had  a  lid  and  clattered,  and  then  handed  to 
her  friend  a  dark  something  whose  smell  and  taste 
showed  it  to  be  a  pickled  butternut. 

"  Wealthy  keeps  her  pickles  here,"  she  said,  "  and 
she  lets  me  take  one  now  and  then,  because  I  helped 
to  prick  the  butternuts  when  she  made  *em.  I  got  my 
fingers  awfully  stained  too.  It  didn't  come  off  for 
almost  a  month.     Aren't  they  good  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  splendid ! "  replied  Bessie,  as  her  teeth 
met  in  the  spicy  acid  oval.  "  I  do  think  butternut 
pickles  are  just  too  lovely ! " 

The  apple-room  had  a  small  window  in  it,  so  it  was 
not  so  dark  as  the  other  cellars.  Eyebright  went 
straight  to  a  particular  barrel. 

"  These  are  the  best  ones  that  are  left,"  she  said. 
"  They  are  those  spotty  russets  which  you  said  you 
liked,  Bessie.  Now,  you  take  four  and  I  '11  take  four 
That  '11  make  just  one  apiece  for  each  of  us." 


AFTER   SCHOOL.  41 

"  How  horrid  it  would  be,"  said  Bessie,  as  the  two 
went  upstairs  again  with  the  apples  in  their  aprons,  — 
"  how  horrid  it  would  be  if  a  hand  should  suddenly 
come  through  the  steps  and  catch  hold  of  our  ankles." 

"  Good  gracious,  Bessie  Mather  ! "  cried  Eyebright, 
whose  vivid  imagination  represented  to  her  at  once 
precisely  how  the  hand  on  her  ankle  would  feel,  "  T 
wish  you  wouldn't  say  such  things,  —  at  least  till 
we  're  safely  up,"  she  added. 

Another  moment,  and  they  were  safely  up  and  in 
the  kitchen.     Alas,  Wealthy  caught  sight  of  them. 

"  Eyebright,"  she  called  after  them,  ''  tea  will  be 
ready  in  ten  minutes.  Come  in  and  have  your  hair 
brushed  and  your  face  washed." 

"  Why,  Wealthy  Judson,  what  an  idea !  It 's  only 
twenty  minutes  past  five." 

"  There 's  a  gentleman  to  tea  to-night,  and  your  pa 
wants  it  early,  so 's  he  can  get  off  by  six,"  replied 
Wealthy.  "  I  'm  just  wetting  the  tea  now.  Don't 
argue,  Eyebright,  but  come  at  once." 

*'  I  've  got  to  go  out  to  the  barn  for  one  minute, 
anyhow,"  cried  Eyebright,  impatiently,  and  she  and 
Bessie  flashed  out  of  the  door  and  across  the  yard 
before  Wealthy  could  say  another  word. 


42  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  she  said,  rushing  upstairs  into  the 
loft  and  beginning  to  distribute  the  apples.  "  That 
old  tea  of  ours  is  early  to-night,  and  Wealthy  says  I 
must  come  in.  I  'm  so  sorry  now  that  I  went  for  the 
apples  at  all,  because  if  I  hadn't  I  shouldn't  have 
known  that  tea  was  early,  and  then  I  needn't  liave 
gone !  We  were  having  such  a  nice  time !  Can't 
you  all  stay  till  I  Ve  done  tea  ?     I  '11  hurry  ! " 

But  the  loft,  with  its  rustles  and  dark  corners,  was 
not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment  without  Eye- 
bright's  presence  and  protection. 

"  Oh,  no,  we  couldn't  possibly  ;  we  must  go  home,'* 
the  children  said,  and  down  the  stairs  they  all  rushed. 

Brindle  and  old  Charley  and  the  strange  horse  raised 
their  heads  and  stared  as  the  little  cavalcade  trooped 
by  their  stalls.  Perhaps  they  were  wondering  that 
there  was  so  much  less  laughing  and  talking  than 
when  it  went  up.  They  did  not  know,  you  see,  about 
the  "  perfectly  awful "  robber  story,  or  the  mysterious 
rustle,  or  how  dreadfully  Mrs.  Top-knot  in  the  dark 
corner  had  frightened  the  merry  little  crowd. 


MR.   JOYCE.  43 


CHAPTEK   III. 


MR.   JOYCE. 


[EALTHY  was  waiting  at  the  kitchen-door, 
and  pounced  on  Eyebright  the  moment 
she  appeared.  I  want  you  to  know 
Wealthy,  so  I  must  tell  you  about  her.  She  was  very 
tall  and  very  bony.  Her  hair,  which  was  black 
streaked  with  gray,  was  combed  straight,  and  twisted 
round  a  hair-pin,  so  as  to  make  a  tight,  solid  knot, 
about  the  size  of  a  half-dollar,  on  the  back  of  her 
head.  Her  face  was  kind,  but  such  a  very  queer  face 
that  persons  who  were  not  used  to  it  were  a  good 
while  in  finding  out  the  kindness.  It  was  square  and 
wrinkled,  with  small  eyes,  a  wide  mouth,  and  a  nose 
that  was  almost  flat,  as  if  some  one  had  given  it  a 
knock  when  Wealthy  was  a  baby,  and  driven  it  iu. 
She  always  wore  dark  cotton  gowns  and  aprons,  aa 
clean  as  clean  could  be,  but  made  after  the  pattern  of 


44  EYEBRIGHT. 

Mrs.  Japhet's  in  the  Noah's  arks,  —  straight  up  and 
straight  down,  with  almost  no  folds,  so  as  to  use  as 
little  material  as  possible.  She  had  lived  in  the 
house  ever  since  Eyebright  was  a  baby,  and  looked 
upon  her  almost  as  her  own  child,  —  to  be  scolded, 
]  etted,  ordered  about,  and  generally  taken  care  of. 

Eyebright  could  not  remember  any  time  in  her  life 
when  her  mother  was  not  ill.  She  found  it  hard 
to  believe  that  mamma  ever  had  been  young  and 
active,  and  able  to  go  about  and  walk  and  do  the 
things  which  other  people  did.  Eyebright's  very 
first  recollections  of  her  were  of  a  pale,  ailing  person 
always  in  bed  or  on  the  sofa,  complaining  of  headache 
and  backache,  and  general  misery,  —  coming  down- 
stairs onee  or  twice  in  a  year  perhaps,  and  even 
then  being  the  worse  for  it.  The  room  in  which  she 
spent  her  life  had  a  close,  dull  smell  of  medicines 
about  it,  and  Eyebright  went  past  its  door  and  down 
the  entry  on  tiptoe,  hushing  her  footsteps  without 
being  aware  that  she  did  so,  so  fixed  was  the  habit. 
She  was  so  well  and  strong  herself  that  it  was  not 
easy  for  her  to  understand  what  sickness  is,  or  what 
it  needs  ;  but  her  sympathies  were  quick,  and  though 
it  was  not  hard  to  forget  her  mother  and  be  happy 


MR.   JOYCE.  45 

when  she  was  rioting  out-of-doors  with  the  other 
children,  she  never  saw  her  without  feeling  pity  and 
affection,  and  a  wish  that  she  could  do  something  to 
please  or  to  make  her  feel  better. 

Tea  was  so  nearly  ready  that  Wealthy  would  not 
let  Eyebright  go  upstairs,  but  carried  her  instead  into 
a  small  bedroom,  opening  from  the  kitchen,  where 
she  herself  slept.  It  was  a  little  place,  bare  enough, 
but  very  neat  and  clean,  as  all  things  belonging  to 
Wealthy  were  sure  to  be.  Then,  she  washed  Eye- 
bright's  face  and  hands,  and  brushed  her  hair,  retying 
the  brown  bow,  crimping  with  her  fingers  the  ruffle 
round  Eyebright's  neck,  and  putting  on  a  fresh  white 
apron  to  conceal  the  ravages  of  play  in  the  school 
frock.  Eyebright  was  quite  able  to  wash  her  own 
face,  but  Wealthy  was  not  willing  yet  to  think  so ; 
she  liked  to  do  it  herself,  and  Eyebright  cared  too 
little  about  the  matter,  and  was  too  fond  of  Wealthy 
beside,  to  make  any  resistance. 

When  the  little  girl  was  quite  neat  and  tidy, — 
"  Go  into  the  sitting-room,"  said  Wealthy,  with  a  final 
pat.  "  Tea  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes.  Your  pa 
is  in  a  hurry  for  it." 

So  Eyebright  went  slowly  through  the  kitchen^  — 


46  EYEBRIGHT. 

which  looked  very  bright  and  attractive  \\'ith  ita 
crackling  fire  and  the  sunlight  streaming  through  its 
open  door,  and  which  smelt  delightfully  of  ham  and 
eggs  and  new  biscuit,  —  and  down  the  narrow,  dark 
passage,  on  one  side  of  which  was  the  sitting-room, 
and  on  the  other  a  parlor,  which  was  hardly  ever  used 
by  anybody.  Wealthy  dusted  it  now  and  then,  and 
kept  her  cake  in  a  closet  which  opened  out  of  it,  and 
there  were  a  mahogany  sofa  and  some  chairs  in  it, 
upon  which  nobody  ever  sat,  and  some  books  which 
nobody  ever  read,  and  a  small  Franklin  stove,  with 
brass  knobs  on  top,  in  which  a  fire  was  never  lighted, 
and  an  odor  of  mice  and  varnish,  and  that  was  all. 
The  sitting-room  on  the  other  side  of  the  entry  was 
much  pleasanter.  It  was  a  large,  square  room,  wain- 
scoted high  with  green-painted  wood,  and  had  a  south 
window  and  two  westerly  ones,  so  that  the  sun  lay  on 
it  all  day  long.  Here  and  there  in  the  walls,  and  upon 
either  side  of  the  chimney-piece,  were  odd,  unex- 
pected little  cupboards,  with  small  green  wooden 
handles  in  their  doors.  The  doors  fitted  so  closely 
that  it  was  hard  to  tell  which  was  cupboard  and 
which  wall;  anybody  who  did  not  know  the  room 
was  always  a  long  time  in  finding  out  just  how  many 


MR.   JOYCE.  47 

cupboards  there  were.  The  one  on  the  left-hand  side 
of  the  chimney-piece  was  Eyebright's  special  cup- 
board. It  had  been  called  hers  ever  since  she  was 
three  years  old,  and  had  to  climb  on  a  chair  to  open 
ihe  door.  There  she  kept  her  treasures  of  all  kinds,  — 
paper  dolls  and  garden  seeds,  and  books,  and  scraps 
of  silk  for  patchwork ;  and  the  top  shelf  of  all  was  a 
sort  of  hospital  for  broken  toys,  too  far  gone  to  be 
played  with  any  longer,  but  too  dear,  for  old  friend- 
ship's sake,  to  be  quite  thrown  away.  The  furniture 
of  the  sitting-room  was  cherry-wood,  dark  with  age ; 
and  between  the  west  windows  stood  a  cherry-wood 
desk,  with  shelves  above  and  drawers  below,  where 
Mr.  Bright  kept  his  papers  and  did  his  writing. 

He  was  sitting  there  now  as  Eyebright  came  in, 
busy  over  something,  and  in  the  rocking-chair  beside 
the  fire-place  was  a  gentleman  whom  she  did  not 
recognize  at  first,  ^but  who  seemed  to  know  her,  for  in 
a  minute  he  smiled  and  said  :  — 

"  Oho  !  here  is  my  friend  of  this  morning.  Is  this 
}  our  little  girl,  Mr.  Bright  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  papa,  from  his  desk ;  "  she  is  inine  — 
my  only  one.  That  is  Mr.  Joyce,  Eyebriglit.  (ro 
and  shake  hands  with  him,  my  dear.'* 


48  EYEBRIGHT. 

Eyebright  shook  hands,  blushing  and  laughing,  for 
now  she  saw  that  Mr.  Joyce  was  the  gentleman  who 
had  interrupted  then'  play  at  recess.  He  kept  hold 
of  her  hand  when  the  shake  was  over,  and  began  lo 
talk  in  a  very  pleasant,  kind  voice,  Eyebright  thought. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  Mr.  Bright's  little 
daughter  when  I  asked  the  way  to  his  house,"  he  said. 
"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  And  what  was  the  game 
you  were  playing,  which  you  said  was  so  splendid, 
but  which  made  you  cry  so  hard  ?  I  couldn't  imag- 
ine, and  it  made  me  very  curious." 

"It  was  only  about  Lady  Jane  Grey,"  answered 
Eyebright.  I  was  Lady  Jane,  and  Bessie,  she  was 
Margaret;  and  I  was  just  going  to  be  beheaded 
when  you  spoke  to  us.  I  always  cry  when  we  get  to 
the  executions ;  they  are  so  dreadful." 

"  Why  do  you  have  them,  then  ?  I  think  that 's 
a  very  sad  sort  of  play  for  two  happy  little  girls  like 
you.  Why  not  have  a  nice  merry  game  about  men 
and  women  who  never  were  executed  ?  Wouldn't  it 
l>e  pleasanter  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  !  It  isn't  half  as  much  fun  playing  about 
people  who  don't  have  things  happen  to  them,"  said 
Eyebright,   eagerly.     '*  Once   w^e   did,  Bessie  and  I 


MR.    JOYCE.  49 

We  jjlayed  at  George  and  Martha  Washington,  and  U 
wasn't  amusing  a  bit, — just  commanding  armies, 
and  standing  on  platforms  to  receive  company,  and 
cutting  down  one  cherry-tree!  We  didn't  like  it  at 
all.  Lady  Jane  Grey  is  much  nicer  than  that.  And 
I  '11  tell  you  another  splendid  one,  *  The  Children  of 
the  Abbey.'  We  played  it  all  through  from  the  very 
beginning  chapter,  and  it  took  us  all  our  recesses  for 
four  weeks.  I  like  long  plays  so  much  better  thau 
short  ones  which  are  done  right  off." 

Mr.  Joyce's  eyes  twinkled  a  little,  and  his  lip^^ 
twitched  ;  but  he  would  not  smile,  because  Eyebright 
was  looking  straight  into  his  face. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  too  big  to  sit  on  my 
knee,"  he  said  ;  and  Eyebright,  nothing  loth,  perched 
herself  on  his  lap  at  once.  She  was  such  a  fearless 
little  thing,  so  ready  to  talk  and  to  make  friends,  that 
he  was  mightily  taken  with  her,  and  she  seemed 
equally  attracted  by  him,  and  chattered  freely  as  to 
an  old  friend. 

She  told  him  all  about  her  school,  and  the  girls, 

and  what  they  did  in  summer,  and  what  they  did  in 

winter,  and  about  Top-knot,  and  the  other  chickens, 

and  her  dolls,  —  for  Eyebright  still  played  with  dolls 

3' 


50  EYEBKIGHT. 

by  fits  and  starts,  and  her  grand  plan  fo^  making  "  a 
cave  "  in  the  garden,  in  which  to  keep  label-sticks  and 
bits  of  string  and  her  cherished  trowel. 

"  Won't  it  be  lovely  ? "  she  demanded.  "  Whenever 
1  want  any  thing,  you  know,  I  shall  just  have  to  dig 
a  little  bit,  and  take  up  tlie  shingle  which  goes  over 
the  top  of  the  cave,  and  put  my  hand  in.  N'obody 
will  know  that  it's  there  but  me.  Unless  I  tell 
Bessie — ,"  she  added,  remembering  that  almost  al- 
ways she  did  tell  Bessie. 

Mr.  Joyce  privately  feared  that  the  trowel  would 
become  very  rusty,  and  Eyebright's  cave  be  apt  to  fill 
with  water  when  the  weather  was  wet ;  but  he  would 
not  spoil  her  pleasure  by  making  these  objections. 
Instead,  he  talked  to  her  about  his  home,which  was  in 
Vermont,  among  the  Green  Mountains,  and  his  wife, 
whom  he  called  "  mother,"  and  his  son,  Charley,  who 
was  a  year  or  two  older  than  Eyebright,  and  a  great 
pet  with  his  father,  evidently. 

"  I  wish  you  could  know  Charley,"  he  said ;  "  you 
are  just  the  sort  of  girl  he  would  like,  and  he  and  you 
would  have  great  fun  together.  Perhaps  some  day 
your  father  '11  bring  you  up  to  make  us  a  visit." 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Eyebright.     "  But  " 


MR.    JOYCE.  61 

—  shaking  her  head  —  "I  don't  believe  it '11  ever 
happen,  because  papa  never  does  take  me  away.  We 
can't  leave  poor  mamma,  you  know.  She  'd  miss  us 
so  much." 

Here  Wealthy  brought  in  supper,  —  a  hearty  one, 
in  honor  of  Mr.  Joyce,  with  ham  and  eggs,  cold  beef, 
warm  biscuit,  stewed  rhubarb,  marmalade,  and,  by  way 
of  a  second  course,  flannel  cakes,  for  making  which 
Wealthy  had  a  special  gift.  Mr.  Joyce  enjoyed 
every  thing,  and  made  an  excellent  meal.  He  was 
amused  to  hear  Eyebright  say,  "  Do  take  some  more 
rhubarb,  papa.  I  stewed  it  my  own  self,  and  it 's 
better  than  it  was  last  time,"  and  to  see  her  arrang- 
ing her  mother's  tea  neatly  on  a  tray. 

"  What  a  droll  little  pussy  that  is  of  yours  ! "  he 
said  to  her  father,  when  Eyebright  had  gone  upstairs 
with  the  tray.  "  She  seems  all  imagination,  and  yet 
she  has  a  practical  turn,  too.  It 's  an  odd  mixture. 
We  don't  often  get  the  two  things  combined  in  one 
child." 

"  No,  you  don't,"  replied  Mr.  Bright.  "  Sometimes  I 
think  she  has  too  much  imagination.  Her  head  is 
stuffed  with  all  sorts  of  notions  picked  up  out  of  books, 
and  you  'd  think,  to  hear  her  talk,  that  she  hadn't  an 


62  EYERHIGHT. 

idea  beyond  a  fairy-tale.  But  she  has  plenty  of  common 
sense,  too,  and  is  more  helpful  and  considerate  than 
most  children  of  her  age.  Wealthy  says  she  is  really 
useful  to  her,  and  has  quite  an  idea  of  cooking  and 
housekeeping.  I'm  puzzled  at  her  myself  sometimes. 
She  seems  two  different  children  rolled  into  one." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  case,  I  see  no  need  to  regret 
her  vivid  imagination,  "replied  his  friend.  "  A  quick 
fancy  helps  people  along  wonderfully.  Imagination 
is  like  a  big  sail.  When  there's  nothing  underneath 
it's  risky;  but  with  plenty  of  ballast  to  hold  the 
vessel  steady,  it 's  an  immense  advantage  and  not  a 
danger." 

Eyebright  came  in  just  then,  and  as  a  matter  of  coursb 
went  back  to  her  perch  upon  her  new  friend's  knee. 

"  Do  you  know  a  great  many  stories  ? "  she  asked 
suggestively.  , 

"  I  know  a  good  many.  I  make  them  up  for  Char- 
ley sometimes." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  tell  me  one." 

"  It  will  have  to  be  a  short  one  then,"  said  Mr.  Joyce, 
glancing  at  his  watch.  "  Bright,  will  you  see  about 
having  my  horse  brought  round  ?  I  must  be  off  in 
ten  minutes  or  so."     Then,  turning  to  Eyebright,  -  - 


MR.    JOYCE.  58 

*'  1 11  tell  you  about  Peter  and  the  Wolves,  if  you  like* 
That 's  the  shortest  story  I  know." 

"  Oh,  do !  I  like  stories  about  wolves  so  much/* 
said  Eyebright,  settling  herself  comfortably  to  listen. 

*'  Little  Peter  lived  with  his  grandmother  in  a  wood/* 
began  Mr.  Joyce  in  a  prompt  way,  as  of  one  who  has 
a  good  deal  of  business  to  get  through  in  brief  time. 

*'  They  lived  all  alone.  He  hadn't  any  other  boys 
to  play  with,  but  once  in  a  great  while  his  grand- 
mother let  him  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  wood,  where 
some  boys  lived,  and  play  with  them.  Peter  was 
glad  when  his  grandmother  said  he  might  go. 

"  One  day  in  the  autumn,  he  said  : '  Grandmother, 
may  I  go  and  see  William  and  Jack  ?  *  Those  were 
the  names  of  the  other  boys. 

"  '  Yes,'  she  said,  '  you  can  go,  if  you  will  promise 
to  come  home  at  four  o'clock.  It  gets  dark  early,  and 
I  am  afraid  to  have  you  in  the  wood  later  than  that.* 

"So  Peter  promised.  He  had  a  nice  time  with 
William  and  Jack,  and  at  four  o'clock  he  started  to  go 
home ;  for  he  was  a  boy  of  his  word. 

"  As  he  went  along,  suddenly,  on  the  path  before 
him,  he  saw  a  most  beautiful  gray  squirrel,  with  a  long 
bushy  talL 


M  EYEBRIGHT. 

'* '  Oh,  you  beauty ! '  cried  Peter.  '  I  must  catch  you 
and  carry  you  home  to  grandmother/ 

"  Now,  this  was  humbug  in  Peter,  because  grand- 
mother did  not  care  a  bit  about  gray  squirrels.  But 
Pete-  did. 

"  So  Peter  ran  to  catch  the  squirrel,  and  the  squir- 
rel ran,  too.  He  did  not  go  very  fast,  but  kept  just 
out  of  reach.  More  than  once,  Peter  thought  he  had 
laid  hold  of  him,  but  the  cunning  squirrel  always 
slipped  through  his  fingers. 

"  At  last  the  squirrel  darted  up  into  a  thick  tree, 
where  Peter  could  not  see  him  any  more.  Then 
Peter  began  to  think  of  going  home.  To  his  surprise 
it  was  almost  dark.  He  had  been  running  so  hard 
that  he  had  not  noticed  this  before,  nor  which  way 
he  had  come,  and  when  he  looked  about  him,  he  saw 
that  he  had  lost  his  way. 

"  This  was  bad  enough,  but  worse  happened ;  for, 
pretty  soon,  as  he  plodded  on,  trying  to  guess  which 
way  lie  ought  to  go,  he  heard  a  long,  low  howl  far 
away  in  the  wood,  —  the  howl  of  a  wolf.  Peter  had 
heard  wolves  howl  before,  and  he  knew  perfectly 
well  what  the  sound  was.  He  began  to  run,  and 
he  ran  and  ran,  but  the  howl  grew  louder,  and  was 


MR.   JOYCE.  5r> 

joined  by  more  howls,  and  they  sounded  neaier  every 
minute,  and  Peter  knew  that  a  whole  pack  of  wolves 
was  after  him.  Wolves  can  run  much  faster  than 
little  boys,  you  -know.  They  had  almost  caught 
Peter,  when  he  saw  —  " 

Mr.  Joyce  paused  to  enjoy  Eyebright's  eyes,  which 
had  grown  as  round  as  saucers  in  her  excitement. 

"  Oh,  go  on !  "  she  cried,  breathlessly. 

'*  —  when  he  saw  a  big  hollow  tree  with  a  hole  in 
one  side.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  spare ;  the  hole 
was  just  big  enough  for  him  to  get  into  ;  and  in  one 
second  he  had  scrambled  through  and  was  inside  the 
tree.  There  were  some  large  pieces  of  bark  lying  in- 
side, and  he  picked  one  up  and  nailed  it  over  the  hole 
with  a  hammer  which  he  happened  to  have  in  his 
pocket.  So  there  he  was,  in  a  safe  little  house  of  his 
own,  and  the  wolves  could  not  get  at  him  at  all." 

"  That  was  splendid,"  sighed  Eyebright,  relieved. 

''All  night  the  wolves  stayed  by  the  tree,  and 
scratched  and  howled  and  tried  to  get  in,"  continued 
Mr.  Joyce.  "  By  and  by  the  moon  rose,  and  Peter 
could  see  them  putting  their  noses  through  the  knot- 
holes in  the  bark,  and  smelling  at  him.  But  the  knot- 
holes were  too  small,  and,  smell  as  they  might,  they 


66  EYEBRIGHT. 

could  not  get  at  him.  At  last,  watching  his  chance 
he  whipped  out  his  jack-knife  and  cut  off  the  tip  of 
the  biggest  wolfs  nose.  Then  the  wolves  howled 
awfully  and  ran  away,  and  Peter  put  the  nose-tip  in 
his  pocket,  and  lay  down  and  went  to  sleep." 

"Oh,  how  funny!"  cried  Eyebright,  delighted. 
"  What  came  next  ? " 

"  Morning  came  next,  and  he  got  out  of  the  tree  and 
ran  home.  His  poor  grandmother  had  been  fright- 
ened almost  to  death,  and  had  not  slept  a  wink  all 
night  long ;  she  hugged  and  kissed  Peter  for  half  an 
hour  and  then  hurried  to  cook  him  a  hot  breakfast. 
That's  all  the  story,  —  only,  when  Peter  grew  to  be  & 
man,  he  had  the  tip  of  the  wolfs  nose  set  as  a  breast 
pin,  and  he  always  wore  it." 

Here  Mr.  Joyce  set  Eyebright  down,  and  rose  from 
his  chair,  for  he  heard  his  horse's  hoofs  under  the 
window. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  about  the  breast-pin  before  you  go ! " 
cried  Eyebright.  "Did  he  really  wear  it?  How 
funny  !     Was  it  set  in  gold,  or  how  ? " 

"  I  shall  have  to  keep  the  description  of  the  breast- 
pin till  we  meet  again,"  replied  Mr.  Joyce.  "My 
dear,"  and  he  stooped  and  kissed  her,  "  I  wish  I  had 


MR.   JOYCE.  67 

a  little  girl  at  home  just  like  you.  Charley  would 
like  it  too.  I  shall  tell  him  about  you.  And  if  you 
ever  meet,  you  will  be  friends,  I  am  sure." 

Eyebright  sat  on  the  door-steps  and  watched  him 
ride  down  the  street.  The  sun  was  just  setting,  and 
all  the  western  sky  was  flushed  with  pink,  the  very 
color  of  a  rosy  sea-shell. 

"  Mr.  Joyce  is  the  nicest  man  that  ever  came  here,  I 
think,"  she  said  to  Wealthy,  who  passed  through  the 
hall  with  her  hands  full  of  tea-things.  "  He  told  me 
a  lovely  story  about  wolves.  I  '11  tell  it  to  you  when 
you  put  me  to  bed,  if  you  like.  He 's  the  nicest  man 
I  ever  saw." 

"  Mcer  than  Mr.  Porter  ? "  asked  Wealthy,  grimly, 
walking  down  the  hall. 

Eyebright  blushed  and  made  no  answer.  Mr. 
Porter  was  a  sore  subject,  though  she  was-  only  six 
years  old  when  she  knew  him,  and  had  never  seen 
him  since. 

He  was  a  young  man  who  for  one  summer  had  rented 
a  vacant  room  in  Miss  Fitch's  school  building.  He 
took  a  great  fancy  to  Eyebright,  who  was  a  little  girl 
then,  and  he  used  to  play  with  her,  and  carry  her  about 
the  green  in  his  arms.  Several  times  he  promised  lie? 
8* 


58  EYEBRIGHT. 

a  doll,  which  he  said  he  would  fetch  when  he  went 
home.  At  last,  he  went  home  and  came  back,  but  no 
doll  appeared  and  whenever  Eyebright  asked  after  it. 
he  replied  that  it  was  "  in  his  trunk." 

One  day,  he  carelessly  left  open  the  door  of  his 
room  and  Eyebright,  peeping  in,  spied  it,  and  saw  that 
his  trunk  was  unlocked.  Now  was  her  chance,  she 
thought,  and,  without  consulting  anybody,  she  went 
in,  resolved  to  find  the  doll  for  herself. 

Into  the  trunk  she  dived.  It  was  full  of  things, 
all  of  which  she  pulled  out  and  threw  upon  the  floor, 
which  had  no  carpet,  and  was  pretty  dusty.  Boots, 
and  shirts,  and  books,  and  blacking-bottles,  and 
papers,  —  all  were  dumped  one  on  top  of  the  other ; 
but  though  she  went  to  the  very  bottom,  no  doll  was 
to  be  found,  and  she  trotted  away,  almost  crying  with 
disappointment,  and  leaving  the  things  just  as  they  lay, 
on  the  floor. 

Mr.  Porter  did  not  like  it  at  all,  when  he  found  his 
property  in  this  condition,  and  Miss  Fitch  punished 
Eyebright,  and  Wealthy  scolded  hard ;  but  Eyebright 
never  could  be  made  to  see  that  she  had  done  any 
thing  naughty. 

"  He 's  a  wicked  man,  and  he  didn't  tell  the  trufe," 


MR.   JOYCE.  59 

was  all  she  would  say.  Wealthy  was  deeply  shocked 
at  the  affair,  and  never  let  Eyebright  forget  it,  so 
that  even  now,  after  six  years  had  passed,  the  mention 
of  Mr.  Porter  s  name  made  her  feel  uncomfortable. 
She  left  the  door-step  presently,  and  went  upstairs 
to  her  mother's  room,  where  she  usually  spent  the 
last  half-hour  before  going  to  bed. 

It  was  one  of  Mrs.  Bright's  better  days,  and  she  was 
lying  on  the  sofa.  She  was  a  pretty  little  woman 
still,  though  thin  and  faded,  and  had  a  gentle,  helpless 
manner,  which  made  people  want  to  pet  her,  as  they 
might  a  child.  The  room  seemed  very  warm  and 
close  after  the  fresh  door-step,  and  Eyebright  thought, 
as  she  had  thought  many  times  before,  "  How  I  wish 
that  mother  liked  to  have  her  window  open  ! "  But 
she  did  not  say  so.  "  Was  your  tea  nice,  mamma  ? " 
she  asked,  a  little  doubtfully,  for  Mrs.  Bright  was 
hard  to  please  with  food,  probably  because  her  appetite 
was  so  fickle. 

"  Pretty  good,"  her  mother  answered ;  "  my  egg  was 
too  hard,  and  I  don't  like  quite  so  much  sugar  in 
rhubarb,  but  it  did  very  well.  What  have  you  been 
about  all  day,  Eyebright  ? " 

"  Nothing  particular,  mamma.     School,  you  kn    ^  ; 


60  EYEBRIGHT. 

and  after  school,  some  of  the  girls  came  into  our  hay- 
loft and  told  stories,  and  we  had  such  a  nice  time. 
Then  Mr.  Joyce  was  here  to  tea.  He  's  a  real  nice 
man,  mamma.     I  wish  you  had  seen  him." 

"  How  was  he  nice  ?  It  seems  to  me  you  didn't 
see  enough  of  him  to  judge,"  said  her  mother. 

''Why,  mamma,  I  can  always  tell  right  away  if 
people  are  nice  or  not.  Can't  you  ?  Couldn't  you, 
when  you  were  well,  I  mean  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  mach  of  that  sort  of  judging,"  said 
Mrs.  Bright,  languidly.  *'  It  takes  a  long  time  to  find 
out  what  people  really  are,  —  years." 

"  Why,  mamma  ! "  cried  Eyebright,  with  wide-open 
eyes.  "  I  couldn't  know  but  just  two  or  three  people 
in  my  whole  life  if  I  had  to  take  such  lots  of  time  to 
find  out !  I  'd  a  great  deal  rather  be  quick,  even  if  I 
changed  my  mind  afterward." 

"  You  '11  be  wiser  when  you  're  older, "  said  her 
mother.  "It 's  time  for  my  medicine  now.  Will  you 
bring  it,  Eyebright  ?  It 's  the  third  bottle  from  the 
corner  of  the  mantel,  and  there 's  a  tea-cup  and  spoon 
on  the  table. " 

Poor  Mrs.  Bright !  Her  medicine  had  grown  to  be 
the  chief  interest  of  her  life !    The  doctor  who  visited 


MR.   JOYCE.  61 

ber  was  one  of  the  old-fashioned  kind  who  believed 
in  big  doses  and  three  pills  at  a  time,  and  something 
new  every  week  or  two ;  but,  in  addition  to  his  pre- 
scriptions, Mrs.  Bright  tried  all  sorts  of  queer  patent 
physics  which  people  told  her  of,  or  which  she  read 
about  in  the  newspapers.  She  also  took  a  great  deal 
of  herb  tea  of  different  sorts.  There  was  always  a 
little  porringer  of  something  steaming  away  on  her 
stove,  —  camomile,  or  boneset,  or  wormwood,  or  snake- 
root,  or  tansy,  and  always  a  long  row  of  fat  bottles 
with  labels  on  the  chimney-piece  above  it. 

Eyebright  fetched  the  medicine  and  the  cup,  and 
her  mother  measured  out  the  dose. 

"  I  can't  help  hoping  that  this  is  going  to  do  me 
good, "  she  said.  "  It 's  something  new  which  I  read 
about  in  the '  Evening  Chronicle, '  —  Dr.  Bright's  Cos- 
mopolitan Febrifuge.  It  seems  to  work  the  most 
wonderful  cures.  Mrs.  Mulravy,  a  lady  in  Pike's 
Gulch,  Idaho,  got  entirely  well  of  consumptive  can- 
cer by  taking  only  two  bottles;  and  a  gentleman 
from  Alaska  writes  that  his  wife  and  three  children, 
who  were  almost  dead  of  cholera  collapse  and  heart- 
disease,  recovered  entirely  after  taking  the  Febrifuge 
one  month.     It 's  very  wonderful." 


62  EYEBKIGHT. 

"  I  Ve  noticed  that  those  folks  who  get  well  in  the 
advertisements  always  live  in  Idaho  and  Alaska  and 
such  like  places,  where  people  ain't  very  likely  to  go 
a- hunting  after  them,"  said  Wealthy,  who  came  ia 
just  then  with  a  candle. 

"  Now,  Wealthy,  how  can  you  say  so  !  Both  these 
cures  are  certified  to  by  regular  doctors.  Let  me 
see,  —  yes,  —  Dr.  Ingham  and  Dr.  H.  B.  Peters. 
Here  are  their  names  on  the  bottle ! " 

"  It 's  easy  enough  to  make  up  a  name  or  two  if  you 
want  'em,"  muttered  Wealthy.  Then,  seeing  that 
Mrs.  Bright  looked  troubled,  she  was  sorry  she  had 
spoken,  and  made  haste  to  add,  "  However,  the  medi- 
cine may  be  first-rate  medicine,  and  if  it  does  you 
good,  Mrs.  Bright,  we'll  crack  it  up  everywhere, — 
that  we  will." 

Eyebright's  bedtime  was  come.  She  kissed  her 
mother  for  good-night  with  the  feeling  which  she 
always  had,  that  she  must  kiss  very  gently,  or  some 
dreadful  thing  might  happen, —  her  mother  break  in 
two,  perhaps,  or  something.  Wealthy,  who  was  in 
rather  a  severe  mood  for  some  reason,  undressed  her  in 
a  sharp,  summary  way,  declined  to  listen  to  the  wolf 
story,  and  went  away,  taking  the  candle  with   her. 


MR.   JOYCE.  63 

But  there  was  little  need  of  a  candle  in  EyeLright'a 
room  that  night,  for  the  shutters  stood  open,  and  a 
bright  full  moon  shone  in,  making  every  thing  as  dis- 
tinct, almost,  as  it  was  in  the  daytime.  She  was  not 
a  bit  sleepy,  but  she  didn't  mind  being  sent  to  bed, 
at  all,  for  bedtime  often  meant  to  her  only  a  second 
playtime  which  she  had  all  to  herself.  Getting  up 
very  softly,  so  as  to  make  no  noise,  she  crept  to  the 
closet,  and  brought  out  a  big  pasteboard  box  which  was 
full  of  old  ribbons  and  odds  and  ends  of  lace  and  silk. 
With  these  she  proceeded  to  make  herself  fine ;  a 
pink  ribbon  went  round  her  head,  a  blue  one  round 
her  neck,  a  yellow  and  a  purple  round  either  ankle, 
and  round  her  waist,  over  her  night-gown  a  broad  red 
one,  very  dirty,  to  serve  as  a  sash.  Each  wrist  was 
adorned  with  a  bit  of  cotton  edging,  and,  with  a 
broken  fan  in  her  hand,Eyebright  climbed  into  bed 
again,  and  putting  one  pillow  on  top  of  the  other  to 
make  a  seat,  began  to  play,  telling  herself  the  story  in 
a  low,  whispering  tone. 

"  I  am  a  Princess, "  she  said ;  "  the  most  beautiful 
Princoss  that  ever  was.  But. I  didn't  know  that  I  was 
a  Princess  at  all,  because  a  wicked  fairy  stole  me  when 
I  was  little,  and  put  me  in  a  lonely  cottage,  and  I 


64  EYEBRIGHT. 

thought  I  wasn't  any  thing  but  a  shepherdess.  But 
one  day,  as  I  was  feeding  my  sheep,  a  ne-cro-answer 
he  came  by  and  he  said :  — 

"  '  Princess,  why  don't  you  have  any  crown  ? ' 
"  Then  I  stared,  and  said,  '  I  'm  not  a  Princess.' 
" '  Oh,  but  you  are, '  he  said ;  '  a  real  Princess.' 
"  Then  I  was  so  surprised  you  can't  think,  Bessie. 
—  Oh,  I  forgot  that  Bessie  wasn't  here.     And  I  said, 
'  I  cannot  believe  such  nonsense  as  that,  sir.' 

"  Then  the  necroanswer  laughed,  and  he  said :  — 
" '  Mount  this  winged  steed,  and  I  will  show  you 
your  kingdom  which  you  were  stolen  away  from.' 
"  So  I  mounted." 

Here  Eyebright  put  a  pillow  over  the  foot-board  of 
the  bed,  and  climbed  upon  it,  in  the  attitude  of  a  lady 
on  a  side-saddle. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is  !"  she  murmured.  "  How 
fast  we  go  !     I  do  love  horseback." 

Dear  silly  little  Eyebright!  Riding  there  in  the 
moonlight,  with  her  scraps  of  ribbon  and  her  bare 
feet  and  her  night-gown,  she  was  a  fantastic  figure, 
and  looked  absurd  enough  to  make  any  one  laugh. 
I  laugh,  too,  and  yet  I  love  the  little  thing,  and  find 
it  delightful  that  she  should  be  so  easily  amused  and 


MR.    JOYCE. 


65 


made  happy  with  small  fancies.  Imagination  is  like 
a  sail,  as  Mr.  Joyce  had  said  that  evening ;  but  sails 
are  good  and  useful  things  sometimes,  and  carry  their 
owners  over  deep  waters  and  dark  waves,  which  else 
might  dampen,  and  drench,  and  drown. 


EYEBBI6HT  MAKING  HERSELF  FINE. 


66  EYEBRIGHT. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

A   DAY  WITH   THE    SHAKERS. 

|HEEE  weeks  after  Mr.  Joyce's  visit,  the  long 
summer  vacation  began..  The  children 
liked  school,  but  none  the  less  did  they  re- 
joice over  the  coming  of  vacation.  It  brought  a  sense  of 
liberty,  of  long-days-all-their-own-to-do-as-they-liked- 
with,  which  it  was  worth  going  to  school  the  rest  of 
the  year  to  feel.  Each  new  morning  was  like  a  sep- 
arate beautiful  gift,  brought  and  laid  in  their  hands 
by  an  invisible  somebody,  who  must  be  kind  and  a 
friend,  since  he  continually  did  this  delightful  thing  for 
them. 

One  hot  August  afternoon,  Eyebright  and  two  or 
three  of  her  special  cronies  had  gone  for  coolness  to 
the  ice-house,  a  place  which  they  had  used  as  a  play- 
room before  on  especially  sultry  days.  It  was  a  large, 
square  underground  cave,  with  a  shingled  roof  set 


A   DAY   WITH    THE    SHAKERS.  67 

over  it,  whose  eaves  rested  on  the  ground.  The  ice 
when  first  put  in,  filled  all  the  space  under  the  roof, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  climb  up  to  reach  the  top 
layer ;  later,  ice  and  ground  were  on  a  level,  but  by 
August  so  much  ice  had  been  used  or  had  melted 
away,  that  a  ladder  was  wanted  to  help  people  down 
to  the  surface.  The  girls  had  left  the  door  a  little 
open,  but  still  the  place  was  dark,  and  they  could 
only  dimly  see  the  tin  chest  in  the  corner  where 
Wealthy  kept  her  marketing,  and  the  shapes  of  two 
or  three  yellow  crocks  which  lay  half  buried,  their 
round  lids  looking  like  the  caps  of  droll  little  drown- 
ing Chinamen. 

It  was  so  hot  outside,  that  the  chillness  of  the  ice 
was  as  refreshing  as  very  cold  water  is  to  people  who 
have  been  walking  in  the  sun.  The  girls  drew  long 
breaths  of  relief  as  they  entered.  Such  a  sharp 
change  from  heat  to  cold  is  not  quite  safe,  and  I 
imagine  Wealthy  would  probably  have  had  a  word 
tc  say  on  the  subject,  had  she  spied  them  going  into 
the  ice-house ;  but  Wealthy  happened  to  be  looking 
another  way  that  afternoon,  so  she  did  not  interfere  ; 
and  as,  strange  to  say,  it  harmed  nobody  that  time,  we 
Qeed  not  discuss  the  wisdom  of  the  proceeding,  only 


68  EYEBRIGHT. 

don't  any  of  you  who  read  this  go  and  sit  in  an  ice- 
house without  getting  leave  from  some  one  wdser  than 
yourselves. 

"  Oh,  this  is  delightful.,"  said  Eomaine.  "  It 's  just 
like  the  iJ^Torth  Pole  and  the  Arctic  regions  which  Pa 
read  about  in  the  book.  Don't  you  come  here 
sometimes  and  play  shipwreck  and  polar  bears,  Eye- 
bright  ?  I  should  think  you  would." 

"  We  did  once,  but  Harry  Prime  broke  a  butter-jar, 
and  Wealthy  was  as  mad  as  hops,  and  said  we  must 
never  play  here  again,  and  I  must  never  let  another 
boy  come  into  the  ice-house.  She  didn't  say  we  girls 
mustn't  come,  though,  and  I  'm  glad  she  didn't ;  for 
it 's  lovely  in  hot  weather,  I  think." 

"  I  wish  we  had  an  ice-house,"  siglied  Kitty  Bury , 
"you  do  have  such  lots  of  nice  things,  Eyebright,  ice- 
houses and  hay-lofts  and  a  great  big  garret,  and  a 
room  tc  yourself;  I  wish  I  was  an  only  child." 

"  I  'd  rather  have  some  brothers  and  sisters  than  all 
the  ice-houses  in  creation,"  said  Eyebright,  who  never 
had  agreed  with  Kitty  as  to  the  advantages  of  being 
'  only.'  "  It 's  a  great  deal  nicer." 

"  That 's  because  you  don't  know  any  thing  about  it 
Brothers  and  sisters  are  nice  enough  sometimes,  but 


A   DAY    WITH    THE   SHAKERS.  69 

other  times  they  're  nothing  but  a  plague,"  snapped 
Kitty,  who  seemed  out  of  sorts  for  some  reason  or 
other ; ''  you  can't  imagine  what  a  bother  Sarah  Jane  is 
to  me.  She 's  always  taking  my  things,  and  turning 
my  drawers  over,  and  tagging  round  after  me  when  I 
don't  want  her ;  and  if  I  bolt  the  door,  and  try  to  get 
a  little  peace  and  quiet,  she  comes  and  bangs,  and  says 
it 's  her  room  too,  and  I  've  no  business  to  lock  her  out ; 
and  then  mother  takes  her  part,  and  it  isn't  nice  a  bit. 
I  would  a  great  deal  rather  be  an  only  child  than 
have  Sarah  Jane." 

"  But  don't  you  have  splendid  times  at  night  and  in 
the  morning  ?  I  always  thought  it  must  be  so  nice  to 
wake  up  and  find  another  girl  there  ready  to  play 
and  talk."     Eyebright's  tone  was  a  little  wistfuL 

"  Well,  it 's  nice  sometimes^'  admitted  Kitty. 

Just  then  the  door  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  opened, 
and  a  fresh  face  peeped  in. 

"  Oh,  it 's  Molly  Prime,"  they  all  cried.  "  Here  we 
are,  Molly,  come  along." 

Molly  scrambled  down  the  ladder. 

"I  guessed  where  you  were,"  she  said.  "Wealthy 
didn't  know,  so  I  took  care  not  to  say  a  word  to  her, 
but  just  crept  round  and  looked  in.     Oh,  girls!  what 


70  EYEBRHrHT. 

do  you  think  is  going  to  happen  ?  —  something 
nice/* 

"What?" 

"Miss  Fitch  is  going  to  have  a  picnic  and  take 
us  to  the  Shakers." 

The  Shaker  settlement  was  about  ten  mUes  from 
Tunxet.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  remembered  to 
tell  you  that  Tunxet  was  the  name  of  the  place  where 
Eyebright  and  the  other  children  lived,  but  it  was, 
Tunxet  Village.  They  were  used  to  see  the  stout, 
sober-looking  brethren  in  their  broad-brimmed  hats, 
driving  about  the  place  in  wagons  and  selling  vegeta- 
bles, cheese,  and  apple-butter.  But,  as  it  happened, 
none  of  the  children  had  ever  visited  the  home  of 
the  community,  and  Molly's  news  produced  a  great 
excitement. 

"  Goody !  goody  ! "  they  all  cried,  "  when  are  we 
going,  Molly,  and  how  did  you  know  ? " 

"  Miss  Fitch  told  father.  She  came  to  borrow  oui 
big  wagon,  and  Ben  to  drive,  and  Pa  said  she  could 
have  it  and  welcome,  because  he  thinks  ever  so  much 
of  Miss  Fitch,  and  so  does  mother.  We  are  going  on 
Friday,  and  we  are  not  to  carry  any  thing  to  eat, 
because  we're   sure  to  get  a  splendid  dinner  over 


A    DAY   WITH    THE   SHAKERS.  71 

there.  Mother  says  nobody  makes  such  good  things  as 
the  Shakers  do  Won't  it  be  lovely  ?  All  the  school 
is  going,  little  ones  and  all,  except  Washington 
Wheeler,  and  he  can't,  because  he  's  got  the  measles." 
"Oh,  poor  little  Washington,  that's  too  bad,"  said 
Eyebright,  "  but  I  'm  too  glad  for  any  thing  that 
we  're  going.  I  always  did  want  to  see  the  Shakers. 
Wealthy  went  once,  and  she  told  me  about  it.  She 
says  they  're  the  cleanest  people  in  the  world,  and  that 
you  might  eat  off  their  kitchen  floor." 

"  Well,  if  Wealthy  says  that,  you  may  be  sure  it 
is  true,"  put  in  Laura  Wheelwright.  "  Ma  declares 
she 's  the  cleanest  person  she  ever  saw." 

"  Oh,  Wealthy  says  the  Shakers  wouldn't  call  her 
clean  a  bit,"  replied  Eyebright.  "  They  'd  never  eat 
off  her  floor,  she  says." 

"  Shall  we  really  have  to  eat  off  a  floor  ? "  inquired 
Bessie,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no.  That 's  only  a  way  of  saying  very  clean 
indeed ! "  explained  Eyebright. 

All  was  expectation  from  that  time  onward  till 
Friday  came.  The  children  were  afraid  it  might 
rain,  and  watched  the  clouds  anxiously.  Thursday 
evening  brought   a   thunder-storm,  and   many  were 


72  EYEBRIGHT. 

the  groans  and  sighs;  but  next  morning  dawned 
fresh  and  fair,  with  clear  sunshine,  and  dust  thor-, 
oughly  laid  on  the  roads,  so  that  every  thing  seemed 
to  smile  on  the  excursion.  There  was  but  one  dis- 
cord in  the  general  joy,  which  was  that  poor  little 
Washington  Wheeler  must  be  left  behind,  with  his 
measles  and  his  disappointment.  Eyebright  felt  so 
sorry  for  him  that  she  told  Wealthy  she  was  afraid 
she  shouldn't  enjoy  herself;  but  bless  her!  no  sooner 
were  they  fairly  off,  than  she  forgot  Washington  and 
every  thing  else,  except  the  nice  time  they  were 
having ;  and  neither  she  nor  any  one  beside  noticed 
the  very  red  and  very  tear-stained  little  face,  pressed 
against  the  pane  of  the  upper  window  of  Mr.  Wheeler's 
house,  to  watch  the  big  wagon  roll  through  the 
village. 

Such  a  big  wagon,  and  packed  so  very  full  1  There 
were  twenty-three  of  them,  including  Miss  Fitch, 
and  Ben,  the  driver,  and  how  they  all  got  in  is  a 
mystery  to  this  day.  The  big  girls  held  the  little 
ones  in  their  laps,  the  boys  were  squeezed  into  the 
bottom,  which  was  made  soft  with  straw,  and  some- 
how every  body  did  have  a  place,  though  how,  I 
oan't   explain.     The  road   was   new   to   them   aftei 


A    DAY   WITH   THE   SHAKERS.  73 

the  first  two  or  three  miles,  and  a  new  road  is 
always  exciting,  especially  when,  as  this  did,  it 
winds  and  turns,  now  in  the  woods,  and  now  out, 
now  sunshiny,  and  now  shady,  and  does  not  give  you 
many  chances  to  look  ahead  and  see  what  you  are 
coming  to.  They  passed  several  farmhouses,  where 
boys  whom  they  had  never  seen  before  ran  out  and 
raised  a  shout  at  the  sight  of  the  wagon  and  its  merry 
load.  A  horse  in  a  field,  who  looked  like  a  very  tame, 
good-natured  horse  indeed,  took  a  fancy  to  them, 
and  trotted  alongside  till  stopped  by  a  fence.  Then 
he  flung  up  his  head  and  whinnied,  as  if  calling 
them  to  come  back,  which  made  the  children  laugh. 
Soon  after  that  they  reached  a  bit  of  woodland, 
where  trees  arched  over  the  road  and  made  it  cool 
and  shady,  and  there  they  saw  a  squirrel,  running 
just  ahead  of  the  wagon  over  the  pine  needles.  He 
did  not  seem  to  notice  them  at  first,  but  the  boys 
whooped  and  hurrahed,  and  then  he  was  off  in  a 
minute,  flashing  up  a  tree-trunk  like  a  streak  of 
striped  lightning.  This  was  delightful ;  and  no  less 
so  a  flight  of  crows  which  passed  overhead,  cawing, 
and  flying  so  low  that  the  children  could  see  every 
feather  in  their  bodies,  which  shone  in  the  sun  like 

4 


74  EYEBKIGHT. 

bunii&hed  green-black  jet,  and  the  glancing  or  theii 
thievish  eyes. 

"Going  to  steal  from  some  farmer's  wheat-orop," 
said  Miss  Fitch,  and  she  repeated  these  verses  about 
a  crow,  which  amused  the  children  greatly. 

**  Where  are  you  bound  to,  you  sooty-black  crow  ? 
What  is  that  noise  which  you  make  as  you  go  ? 
You  are  a  sad  wicked  thief,  as  I  know, 
Held  by  no  honesty,  keeping  no  law  — 
What  do  you  say,  sir  ? "     The  crow  he  said  — 

"Caw." 

•*  Corn  is  still  green,  oh,  you  naughty,  bad  crow. 
Wheat  is  not  ripe  in  the  meadow  below. 
What  is  your  errand  ?     I  think  it  is  low 
Thus  to  be  stuffing  and  cramming  your  maw, 
"Robbing  the  farmers  !  —  "     The  crow  he  said  — 

"  Caw." 

'*  Bring  me  my  gun.     Now  you  sinful  old  crow. 
Right  at  your  back  I  take  aim  as  you  go. 
You  are  a  thief  and  the  honest  man's  foe  ! 
Therefore  I  shoot  you."    Click!     Bang  !  —  but,  oh  pmaw  1 
Off  flew  the  crow,  and  he  laughed  and  said  — 

"Caw." 

By  the  time  that  the  children  had  done  giggling 
over  the  crow-rhymes,  the  Shaker  village  was  in 
sight,  looking,  against  its  back-ground  of  green  trees, 
like  a  group  of  nice  yellow  cheeses,  —  only  the  cheeses 


A   DAY   WlTn  THE   SHAKERS.  73 

were  not  round.  All  the  buildings  were  cream-col- 
ored, and  seemed  freshly  painted,  they  were  so  very 
clean.  The  windows  had  no  shutters,  but  inside 
some  of  them  hung  blue  paper  shades  to  keep  out 
the  sun.  Every  thing  looked  thrifty  and  in  excel- 
lent order.  The  orchard  trees  were  heavy  with  half- 
grown  apples  and  pears;  the  grass  fields  had  been 
newly  cut,  and  nothing  could  be  imagined  neater 
than  the  vegetable  gardens  which  lay  on  one  side  of 
the  houses.  All  the  green  things  stood  in  precise 
straight  rows,  —  every  beet,  and  carrot,  and  cucumber 
with  his  hands  in  his  own  pocket,  so  to  speak ;  none 
of  that  reaching  about  and  intruding  on  neighboring 
premises  which  most  vegetables  indulge  in;  but 
every  one  at  home,  with  a  sedate  air,  and  minding 
his  own  business.  Not  a  single  squash-vine  could 
be  detected  tickling  another  squash- vine  ;  each 
watermelon  lay  in  the  middle  of  his  hill  with  a 
solemn  expression  on  his  large  face;  the  tomatoes 
looked  ashamed  of  being  red  ;  and  only  a  suit  of  drab 
apiece  seemed  wanting,  to  make  the  pumpkins  as 
respectably  grave  as  the  other  members  of  the  com- 
munity. Two  small  boys,  in  wide-brimmed  hats  and 
legs  of  discreet  tint,  were  weeding   these   decorous 


76  EYEBRIGHT. 

^^egetables.  They  raised  their  heads  and  took  one 
good  stare  as  the  big  wagon  rattled  past,  then  the} 
lowered  them  again,  and  went  on  with  their  work, 
laying  the  pig-weeds,  which  they  pulled  out  of  the 
ground,  in  neat  little  piles  along  the  garden  walk. 

At  the  door  of  the  principal  building,  a  stout 
butternut-colored  Elder  stood  waiting,  as  if  to  learn 
their  business. 

"We  have  driven  over  to  see  your  village,"  said 
Miss  Fitch,  in  her  pleasant  voice,  "and  we  should 
like  dinner,  if  you  can  give  it  to  us." 

"  Yea,"  said  the  Elder.  He  pronounced  the  word 
as  if  it  were  spelled  "ye."  That  was  all  he  said; 
but  he  helped  the  children  to  get  down  from  the 
wagon,  and  led  the  way  through  a  very  clean,  bare 
passage  to  a  room  equally  clean  and  bare,  where 
four  women  in  drab  gowns  with  wide  collars  and 
stiff  white  caps  were  sitting,  each  on  a  little  plat- 
form by  herself,  darning  stockings,  with  a  basket  of 
mending  beside  her. 

One  of  these  introduced  herself  to  Miss  Fitch  as 
Sister  Samantha.  She  had  a  round,  comfortable  face, 
and  the  boys  and  girls,  who  had  felt  an  awe  of  the 
grave  Elder,  recovered  courage  as  they  looked  at  her. 


A   DAY    WITH   THE   SHAKERS.  '17 

She  said  they  could  "go  round"  if  they  wanted  to, 
and  called  a  younger  sister  named  Dorcas  to  show 
them  the  way. 

Sister  Dorcas  had  a  pale,  rather  dissatisfied  face. 
She  did  not  seem  so  happy  as  Sister  Samantha.  She 
showed  the  children  all  that  there  was  to  see,  but  she 
said  very  little  and  took  no  pains  to  explain  any  thing, 
or  to  make  the  visit  pleasant.  They  saw  the  bed- 
rooms where  the  sisters  slept,  and  the  bedrooms  where 
the  brothers  slept,  all  exactly  alike,  comfortable,  plain, 
and  unadorned,  except  for  wonderful  patchwork  quilts 
on  the  beds,  and  the  gay  "  pulled  "  rugs  on  the  floors. 
They  were  shown  the  kitchen  where  the  food  for  all 
the  community  was  cooked,  a  kitchen  as  clean  and 
shining  as  the  waxen  cell  of  a  bee,  and  the  store- 
rooms, full  of  dried  fruits  and  preserved  fruits, 
honey,  cheeses,  beeswax,  wooden  ware,  brooms,  herbs, 
and  soap.  There  was  an  "  office  "  also,  where  these 
things  w^ere  for  sale  to  any  one  who  should  choose 
to  buy,  and  great  consultations  took  place  among 
the  children,  who  had  almost  all  brought  a  little 
shopping  money.  Some  chose  maple-sugar,  some, 
silk-winderSj  some,  little  cakes  of  white  wax  for  use 
ill  work-baskets.     Molly  Prime  had  a  sudden  bright 


78  EYEBRlGFfr 

thought,  which  she  whispered  about,  and  after  much 
giggling  and  mysterious  explanations  in  corners,  they 
clubbed  together  and  got  a  w^ork-basket  for  Miss 
Fitch.  Jt  cost  a  dollar  and  a  quarter,  and  was  a 
great  beauty,  the  children  thought.  Miss  Fitch  was 
very  much  pleased  with  it,  and  that  added  to  their 
pleasure,  so  that  the  purchase  of  the  work-basket  was 
one  of  the  pleasantest  events  of  the  day.  Eyebright 
spent  what  was  left  of  her  money  in  buying  a  new 
mop-handle  as  a  present  for  Wealthy,  who  wanted 
one,  she  knew.  She  was  a  good  deal  laughed  at 
by  the  other  boys  and  girls,  but  she  didn't  mind 
that  a  bit,  and  shouldering  her  mop-handle  as  if  it 
had  been  a  flag-staff,  followed  with  the  rest  wherever 
Sister  Dorcas  chose  to  lead  them. 

Sister  Dorcas  took  them  to  see  the  big  bams,  sweet 
with  freshly  made  hay,  and  to  the  dairy  and  cheese- 
house,  with  white  shelves  laden  with  pans  of  rich  milk 
and  curds,  the  very  sight  of  which  made  the  children 
hungry.  "Next  they  peeped  into  the  meeting-house  for 
Sundays,  and  then  they  were  taken  to  the  room  where 
fruit  was  packed  and  sorted.  Here  they  found  half-a- 
dozen  young  Shakeresses,  busy  in  filling  baskets  with 
blackberries  for  next  day's  market. 


A   DAY   WITH  THE   SHAKERS.  79 

Tliese  Shaker  girls  pleased  the  children  very  much ; 
they  looked  so  fresh  and  prim  and  pretty  in  their 
soboi  costume,  and  so  cheerful  and  smiling.  Eye- 
bright  fell  in  love  at  once  with  the  youngest  and  pret- 
tiest, a  girl  only  two  or  three  years  older  than  herself. 
She  managed  to  get  close  to  her,  and,  under  pretence  of 
helping  with  the  blackberries,  drew  her  a  little  to  one 
side,  where  they  could  talk  without  being  overheard. 

"  Do  you  like  to  live  here  ? "  she  asked  confiden- 
tially, as  their  fingers  met  in  the  blackberry  basket. 

"  Yea/'  said  the  little  Shakeress,  glancing  round 
shyly.  Then  as  she  saw  that  nobody  was  noticing 
them,  she  became  more  communicative. 

"  I  like  it  —  pretty  well,"  she  said.  "  But  I  guess  I 
shan't  stay  here  always.  " 

*'  Won't  you  ?  What  will  you  do  then  ?  Where 
will  you  go  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  yet ;  but  Euth  Berguin  —  she  is 
my  sister  in  the  flesh  —  was  once  of  this  family,  and 
she  left,  and  went  back  to  the  world's  people  and  got 
married.  She  lives  up  in  Canada  now,  and  has  got 
two  babies.  She  came  for  a  visit  once,  and  fetched 
one  of  them.  Sister  Samantha  felt  real  badly  wlieii 
Kuth  went,  but  she  liked  the  baby  ever  so  much.      I 


80  .  EYEBRIGHT. 

mean  to  go  back  to  the  world's  people  too,  some 
day" 

'•  Oh  my  1  perhaps  you  will  get  married,"  suggested 
Eyebright,  greatly  excited  at  the  idea. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall,"  answered  the  small  Shakeres>. 
with  unmoved  gravity. 

Then  she  told  Eyebright  that  her  name  was  Jane, 
and  she  was  an  orphan,  and  that  she  and  sister  Orphah, 
w.hom  she  pointed  out,  slept  together  in  one  of  the 
bedrooms  which  the  children  had  seen  upstairs,  and 
had  very  "good  times"  after  the  lights  were  out^ 
whispering  to  each  other  and  planning  what  they 
would  do  when  they  were  old  enough  to  do  any  thing 
Sister  Orphah,  too,  had  a  scheme  for  returning  to  the 
world's  people  —  perhaps  they  might  go  together. 
The  idea  of  these  "  good  times  "  rather  tickled  Eye- 
bright's  imagination.  For  a  few  minutes  she  reflected 
that  perhaps  it  might  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  come  and 
join  the  Shakers.  She  and  sister  Jane  grew  intimate 
so  fast,  and  chattered  so  merrily,  that  Bessie  became 
jealous  and  drew  near  to  hear  what  they  were  saying, 
and  presently  one  of  the  elder  Shakeresses  joined 
tliem,  and  gently  sent  Jane  away  on  an  errand.  Eye- 
bright's  chance  for  confidences  was  over  :  but  she  had 


A    DAY    WITH   THE    SHAKERS.  81 

made  the  most  of  it  while  it  lasted,  and  that  is  always 
a  comfort. 

By  the  time  that  they  had  finished  the  round  of  the 
premises  dinner  was  ready,  —  welcome  news  ;  for  the 
children  were  all  very  hungry.  It  was  spread  in  an 
enormous  dining-room  on  two  long  tables.  The  men 
Shakers  sat  at  one  table,  and  the  women  Shakers  at 
the  other.  Miss  Fitch  and  her  scholars  were  placed 
with  the  latter,  and  some  of  the  young  sisters  waited 
on  them  very  neatly  and  quietly.  Sister  Jane  was 
one  of  these  and  she  took  especial  care  of  Eyebright 
whom  she  seemed  to  regard  as  a  friend  of  her  own. 
No  one  spoke  at  either  table  except  to  ask  for  some- 
thing or  to  say  "  thank  you  "  ;  but  to  make  up  for  this 
silence,  a  prodigious  amount  of  eating  was  done.  No 
wonder,  for  the  dinner  was  excellent,  the  very  best 
dinner,  the  children  thought,  that  they  had  ever  tasted. 
There  was  no  fresh  meat,  but  capital  pork  and  beans, 
vegetables  of  all  kinds,  delicious  Indian  pudding, 
flooded  with  thick,  yellow  cream,  brown  bread  and 
white,  rusk,  graham  gems,  oat-meal  and  grits,  with 
the  best  of  butter,  apple-sauce,  maple-molasses, 
and  plenty  of  the  richest  milk.  Every  thing  was 
of  the   nicest  material,  and  as  daintily  clean  as  if 

4*  F 


82  EYEB  RIGHT. 

intendt^.d  for  a  queen.  Miss  Fitch  praised  the  food, 
and  Sister  Samantha,  who  looked  pleased,  said  they 
tried  to  do  things  thoroughly,  "  as  to  the  Lord."  Misa 
Fitch  said  afterward  that  she  thought  this  was  an  ad- 
mirable idea,  and  she  wished  more  people  would  try 
it,  because  then  there  would  be  less  bad  cooking  in 
the  world,  and  less  saleratus  and  dyspepsia.  She  said 
that  to  be  faithful  and  thorough  in  every  thing,  even 
in  getting  dinner  ready,  was  a  real  way  of  serving 
God,  and  pleased  Him  too,  because  He  looks  beyond 
things,  and  sees  the  spirit  in  which  we  do  them. 

At  three  o'clock  the  wagon  came  to  the  door,  and 
they  said  good-by  to  the  kind  Shakers.  Miss  Fitch 
paid  for  the  dinner;  but  the  elder  was  not  willing 
to  take  much.  They  entertained  the  poor  for  nothing, 
he  said.  A  small  compensation  from  those  who  were 
able  and  willing  to  pay,  did  not  come  amiss,  but  a 
dinner  for  boys  and  girls  like  those,  he  guessed,  didn't 
amount  to  much.  Miss  Fitch  privately  doubted  this. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  a  regiment  of  grown  men  could 
hardly  have  devoured  more  in  the  same  space  of  time 
than  her  hungry  twenty-one ;  but  she  was  grateful  to 
the  elder  for  his  kindness,  and  told  him  so.  Eyebright 
parted  from  Sister  Jane  with  a  kiss,  and  gave  her,  by 


A   DAY  WITH   THE   SHAKERS.  83 

way  of  keepsake,  the  only  thing  she  had,  —  a  china 
doll  about  two  inches  long,  which  chanced  to  be  at  the 
bottom  of  her  pocket.  It  was  a  droll  gift  to  make  to. 
a  solemn  little  Shakeress  in  drab;  but  Jane  was 
pleased,  and  said  she  should  always  keep  it.  Then 
they  were  packed  into  the  wagon  again,  and  with 
many  good-bys  they  drove  away,  kissing  their  hands 
ta  the  sisters  at  the  door,  and  carrying  with  them  a 
sense  of  cleanliness,  hospitality,  and  quiet  peace, 
which  would  make  them  for  ever  friendly  to  the  name 
of  Shaker. 

The  drive  home  was  as  pleasant  as  that  of  the 
morning  had  been.  The  children  were  not  at  all  tired, 
and  in  the  most  riotous  spirits.  They  hurrahed  every 
five  minutes.  They  made  jokes  and  guessed  riddles, 
and  sang  choruses, —  "  Tranquidillo  "  was  one  ;  "  We'll 
bear  the  storm,  it  won't  be  long,"  another ;  and  "  Ubi- 
dee,"  which  Herman  Bury  had  picked  up  from  a 
cousin  in  college,  and  which  they  all  thought  grand. 
Past  the  farmhouses  they  went,  past  the  tree  where 
the  squirrel  had  curled  himself  to  sleep,  and  the  fields 
from  which  the  thievish  crows  had  flown.  They  stop- 
ped a  minute  at  Mr.  Wheeler's  to  leave  some  maple- 
sugar  for  Washington,  —  not  the  best  diet  for  measles, 


84  EYEBEIGHT. 

perhaps,  but  pleasant  as  a  proof  of  kind  feeling,  and 
then,  one  hj  one,  they  were  dropped  at  the  doors  of 
their  own  homes. 

"  Well ! "  said  Wealthy,  eying  her  mop-handle  with 
great  satisfaction.  "  That 's  what  I  call  sensible.  I 
expected  you'd  spend  your  money  on  some  pesky 
gimcrack  or  other.  I  never  thought  't  would  be  a 
handy  thing  like  this,  and  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  it, 
Eyebright.  Now  run  up  and  see  your  ma.  She  was 
asking  after  you  a  while  ago.'* 


HOW   THE   BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.         85 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  THE  BLACK  DOG  HAD  HIS  DAT. 

|0U  'VE  got  the  black  dog  on  your  shoul- 
der, this  morning ;  that 's  what's  the 
matter  with  you,"  said  Wealthy. 
This  metaphorical  black  dog  meant  a  bad  humor. 
Eyebright  had  waked  up  cross  and  irritable.  What 
made  her  wake  up  cross  I  am  not  wise  enough  to  ex- 
plain. The  old-fashioned  doctors  would  probably  have 
ascribed  it  to  indigestion,  the  new-fashioned  ones  to 
nerves  or  malaria  or  a  "  febrile  tendency" ;  Deacon 
Bury,  I  think,  would  have  called  it  "  Original  Sin," 
and  Wealthy,  who  did  not  mince  matters,  dubbed  it  an 
attack  of  the  Old  Scratch,  which  nothing  but  a  sound 
shaking  could  cure.  Very  likely  all  these  guesses 
were  partly  right  and  all  partly  wrong.  When  oui 
bodies  get  out  of  order,  our  souls  are  apt  to  become 
disordered  too,  and  at  such  times  there  always  seem  to 
be  little  imps  of  evil  lurking  near,  ready  to  seize  the 


86  EYEBRIGHT. 

chance,  rush  in,  fan  tlie  small  embers  of  discontent 
to  a  flame,  make  cross  days  crosser,  and  turn  bad  be- 
ginnings into  worse  endings. 

The  morning's  mischances  had  begun  with  Eye 
bright's  being  late  to  breakfast ;  —  a  thing  which  al- 
ways annoyed  her  father  very  much.  Knowing  this, 
she  made  as  much  haste  as  possible,  and  ran  down- 
stairs with  her  boots  half  buttoned,  fastening  her 
apron  as  she  went.  She  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to 
look  where  she  was  going,  and  the  result  was  that 
presently  she  tripped  and  fell,  bumping  her  head  and 
tearing  the  skirt  of  her  frock  half  across.  This  was 
bad  luck  indeed,  for  Wealthy,  she  knew,  would  make 
her  darn  it  as  a  punishment,  and  that  meant  at  least 
an  hour's  hard  work  indoors  on  one  of  the  loveliest  days 
that  ever  shone.  She  picked  herself  up  and  went  in- 
to the  sitting-room,  pouting,  and  by  no  means  disposed 
to  enjoy  the  lecture  on  punctuality,  which  papa  made 
haste  to  give,  and  which  was  rather  longer  and 
sharper  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been,  because 
Eyebright  looked  so  very  sulky  and  obstinate  while 
listening  to  it. 

You  will  all  be  shocked  at  this  account,  but  I  am 
not  sorry  to  show  Eyebright  to  you  on  one  of  hei 


HOW  THE   BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAT.  87 

nauglity  days.  All  of  us  have  such  days  sometimes, 
and  to  represent  her  as  possessing  no  faults  would  be  to 
put  her  at  a  distance  from  all  of  you ;  in  fact,  I  should 
not  like  her  so  well  myself.  She  has  been  pretty 
good,  so  far,  in  this  story ;  but  she  was  by  no  means 
perfe(3t,  for  which  let  us  be  thankful ;  because  a  per- 
fect child  would  be  an  unnatural  thing,  whom  none  of 
us  could  quite  believe  in  or  understand  !  Eyebright 
was  a  dear  little  girl,  and  for  all  her  occasional 
naughtiness,  had  plenty  of  lovable  qualities  about  her ; 
and  I  am  glad  to  say  she  was  not  often  so  naughty  as 
on  this  day. 

When  a  morning  begins  in  this  way,  every  thing 
seems  to  go  wrong  with  us,  as  if  on  purpose.  It  was 
so  with  Eyebright.  Her  mother,  who  was  very  poor- 
ly, found  fault  with  her  breakfast.  She  wanted  some 
hotter  tea,  and  a  slice  of  toast  a  little  browner  and 
cut  very  thin.  These  were  simple  requests,  and  on 
any  other  day  Eyebright  would  have  danced  off 
gleefully  to  fulfil  them.  To-day  she  was  annoyed  at 
having  to  go,  and  moved  slowly  and  reluctantly.  She 
did  not  say  that  she  felt  waiting  on  her  mother  to  be 
a  trouble,  but  her  face,  and  the  expression  of  her  shoul- 
ders, and  her  dull,  dawdling  movements  said  it  for  her ; 


88  EYEBRIGHT. 

aud  poor  Mrs.  Bright,  who  was  not  used  to  such  un- 
willingness on  the  part  of  her  little  daughter,  felt  it 
so  much  that  she  shed  a  few  tears  over  the  second 
cup  of  tea  after  it  was  brought.  This  dismayed  Eye- 
bright,  but  it  also  exasperated  her.  She  would  not 
take  any  notice,  but  stood  by  in  silence  till  her  mother 
had  finished,  and  then,  without  a  word,  carried  the  tray 
downstairs.  A  sort  of  double  mood  was  upon  her. 
Down  below  the  anger  was  a  feeling  of  keen  remorse 
for  what  she  had  done,  and  a  voice  inside  seemed  to 
say  :  "  Oh  dear,  how  sorry  I  am  going  to  be  for  this 
by  and  by ! "  But  she  would  not  let  herself  be  sorry 
then,  and  stifled  the  voice  by  saying,  half  aloud,  as  she 
went  along :  "  I  don't  care.  It 's  too  bad  of  mother. 
I  wish  she  wouldn't." 

Wealthy  met  her  at  the  stair-foot. 

"How  long  you  Ve  been ! "  she  said,  taking  the  tray 
from  her. 

"  I  can't  be  any  quicker  when  I  have  to  keep  going 
for  more  things,"  said  Eyebright. 

"  Nobody  said  you  could,"  retorted  Wealthy,  speak- 
ing crossly  herself,  because  Eyebright's  tone  was 
cross.  "  Mercy  on  me !  How  did  you  tear  your 
frock  like  that?     You'll  have  to  darn  it  yourself, 


HOW   THE   BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.  89 

you  know  ;  that 's  the  rule.  Fetch  your  work-box  a« 
soon  as  you  Ve  done  the  cups  and  saucers." 

Eyebright  almost  replied  "  I  won't,"  but  she  did  not 
quite  dare,  and  walked,  without  speaking,  into  the 
bitting-room,  where  the  table  was  made  ready  for 
dish-washing,  with  a  tub  of  hot  water,  towels,  a  bit  of 
soap,  and  a  little  mop.  Since  vacation  began,  Wealthy 
had  allowed  her  to  wash  the  breakfast  things  on  Mon- 
days and  Tuesdays,  days  on  which  she  herself  was 
particularly  busy. 

Ordinarily,  Eyebright  was  very  proud  to  be  trusted 
with  this  little  job.  She  worked  carefully  and  nicely, 
and  had  proved  herself  capable,  but  to-day  her  fingers 
seemed  all  thumbs.  She  set  the  cups  away  without 
drying  the  bottoms,  so  that  they  made  wet  rings  on 
the  shelves  ;  she  only  half  rinsed  the  teapot,  left  a 
bit  of  soap  in  its  spout,  and  ended  by  breaking  a 
saucer.  Wealthy  scolded  her,  she  retorted,  and  then 
Wealthy  made  the  speech,  which  I  have  quoted, 
about  the  black  dog. 

Very  slowly  and  unwillingly  Eyebright  sat  down 
to  darn  her  frock.  It  was  a  long,  jagged  rent,  re- 
quiring patience  and  careful  slowness,  and  neither 
good-will  nor  patience  had  Eyebright  to  bring  to  tba 


90  EYBBRIGHT. 

task.  Her  fingers  twitched,  she  "  pshawed,"  and  "  oh 
dearel,"  ran  the  needle  in  and  out  and  in  irregularly, 
jerked  the  thread,  and  finally  gave  a  fretful  pull  when 
sjie  came  to  the  end  of  the  first  needleful,  which  tore 
a  fresh  hole  in  the  stuff  and  puckered  all  she  had 
darned,  so  that  it  was  not  fit  to  be  seen.  Wealthy 
looked  in  just  then,  and  was  scandalized  at  the  condi- 
tion of  the  work. 

"  You  can  just  pick  it  out  from  the  beginning,"  she 
said.  "  It 's  a  burning  shame  that  a  great  girl  like 
you  shouldn't  know  how  to  do  better.  But  it 's  tem- 
per —  that 's  what  it  is.  Nothing  in  the  world  but 
temper,  Eyebright.  You've  been  as  cross  as  two 
sticks  all  day.  Massy  knows  for  what,  and  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  whereon  she  gave  Eye- 
bright  a  little  shake. 

The  shake  was  like  a  match  applied  to  gunpowder 
Eyebright  flamed  into  open  revolt. 

"  Wealthy  Ann  Judson  ! "  she  cried,  angrily.  "  Let 
me  alone.  It 's  all  your  fault  if  I  am  cross,  you  treat 
me  so.  I  won't  pick  it  out.  I  won't  darn  it  at  all. 
And  I  shall  just  tell  my  father  that  you  shook  me  j 
see  if  I  don't." 

Wealthy's   reply   was   a   sound   box   on  the   ear. 


HOW   THE    BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.  91 

Eyebright's  naughtiness  certainly  deserved  punish- 
ment, but  it  was  hardly  wise  or  right  of  Wealthy  to 
administer  it,  or  to  do  it  thus.  She  was  far  too  angry 
to  think  of  that,  however. 

"That's  what  you  want/'  said  Wealthy,  "and 
you  'd  be  a  better  girl  if  you  got  it  oftener."  Then 
she  marched  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Eyebright  in  a 
fury. 

"  I  won't  bear  it !  I  won't  bear  it ! "  she  exclaimed, 
bursting  into  tears.  "  Everybody  is  cruel,  cruel ! 
I  Tl  run  away  !  I  '11  not  stay  in  this  house  another 
minute  —  not  another  minute,"  and,  catching  up  her 
sun-bonnet,  she  darted  through  the  hall  and  was  out 
of  the  gate  and  down  the  street  in  a  flash.  Wealthy 
was  in  the  kitchen,  her  father  was  out,  no  one  saw 
her  go.  Eosy  and  Tom  Bury,  who  were  swinging 
on  their  gate,  called  to  her  as  she  passed,  but  their 
gay  voices  jarred  on  her  ear,  and  she  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  call. 

Tunxet  village  was  built  upon  a  sloping  hill  whose 
top  was  crowned  with  woods.  To  reach  these  woods, 
Eyebright  had  only  to  climb  two  stone  walls  and 
cross  a  field  and  a  pasture,  and  as  they  seemed  just 
then  the  most  desirable  refuge  possible,  she   made 


92  EYEBRIGHT. 

haste  to  do  so.  Siie  had  always  had  a  peculiar  feel- 
ing for  woods,  a  feeling  made  up  of  terror  and  attrac- 
tion. They  were  associated  in  her  mind  with  fairies 
and  with  robbers,  with  lost  children,  redbreasts,, 
Eobin  Hood  and  his  merry  men ;  and  she  was  by 
turns  eager  and  shy  at  the  idea  of  exploring  their 
depths,  according  to  which  of  these  images  happened 
to  be  uppermost  in  her  ideas.  To-day  she  thought 
neither  of  Eobin  Hood  nor  the  fairies.  The  w^ood 
was  only  a  place  where  she  could  hide  away  and  cry 
and  be  unseen,  and  she  plunged  in  without  a  thought 
of  fear. 

In  and  in  she  went,  over  stones  and  beds  of  moss, 
and  regiments  of  tall  brakes,  which  bowled  and  rose 
as  she  forced  her  way  past  their  stems,  and  saluted 
her  with  wafts  of  woodsy  fragrance,  half  bitter,  half 
sweet,  but  altogether  pleasant.  There  was  something 
soothing  in  the  shade  and  cool  quiet  of  the  place.  It 
fell  like  dew  on  her  hot  mood,  and  presently  her 
anger  changed  to  grief,  she  knew  not  why.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  She  sat  down  on  a  stone  all  brown 
■with  soft  mosses,  and  began  to  cry,  softly  at  first, 
then  loudly  and  more  loud,  not  taking  any  pains  to 
cry   quietly,   but   with    hard  sobs   and   great  gulps 


HOW  THE   BLACK  DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.         9S 

which  echoed  back  in  an  odd  way  from  the  wood. 
It  seemed  a  relief  at  first  to  make  as  much  noise  as 
she  liked  with  her  crying,  and  to  know  that  there  was 
no  one  to  hear  or  be  annoyed.  It  was  pleasant,  too, 
to  be  able  to  talk  out  loud  as  well  as  to  cry. 

"  They  are  so  unkind  to  me,"  she  wailed,  "  so  very 
unkind.  Wealthy  never  slapped  me  before.  She 
has  no  right  to  slap  me.  I'll  never  kiss  Wealthy 
again,  —  never.     0-h,  she  was  so  unkind  "  — 

"  0-h  I "  echoed  back  the  wood  in  a  hollow  tone. 
Eyebright  jumped. 

"  It 's  like  a  voice,"  she  thought.  "  I  *11  go  some- 
where else.     It  isn't  nice  just  here.     I  don't  like  it." 

So  she  went  back  a  little  way  to  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  where  the  trees  were  less  thick,  and  between 
their  stems  she  could  see  the  village  below.  Here 
she  felt  safer  than  she  had  been  when  in  the  thick 
wood.  She  threw  herself  down  in  a  comfortable  hol- 
low at  the  foot  of  an  oak,  and,  half  sitting,  half  lying, 
began  to  think  over  her  wrongs. 

"  I  guess  if  I  was  dead  they  'd  be  sorry,"  she  re- 
flected. "  They  'd  hunt  and  hunt  for  me,  and  not 
know  where  I  was.  And  at  last  they  'd  come  up 
here,  and  find  me  dead,  with  a  tear  on  my  cheek,  and 


94  EYEBRIGHT. 

then  they  'd  know  how  badly  they  had  made  me  feel, 
and  their  hearts  would  nearly  break.  I  don't  believe 
father  would  ever  smile  again.  He'd  be  like  the 
king  in  the  '  Second  Eeader ' :  — 

*  But  waves  went  o'er  his  son's  bright  hair, 
He  never  smiled  again.' 

Only,  I  'm  a  daughter,  and  it  would  be  leaves  and  not 
waves  !  Mother,  she  'd  cry  and  cry,  and  as  for  that 
old  Wealthy"—  but  Eyebright  felt  it  difficult  to 
imagine  what  Wealthy  would  do  under  these  circum- 
stances.    Her  thoughts  drifted  another  way. 

"  I  might  go  into  a  convent  instead.  That  would 
be  better,  I  guess.  I  'd  be  a  novice  first,  with  a  white 
veil  and  a  cross  and  a  rosary,  and  I  'd  look  so  sweet 
and  holy  that  all  the  other  children,  —  no,  there 
wouldn't  be  any  other  children,  —  never  mind !  — 
I  'd  be  lovely,  anyhow.  But  I  'd  be  a  Protestant 
always !  I  wouldn't  want  to  be  a  Catholic  and  have 
to  kiss  the  Pope's  old  toe  all  the  time  !  Then  by  and 
by  I  should  take  that  awful  black  veil.  Then  I 
could  never  come  out  any  more  —  not  ever !  And  I 
should  kneel  in  the  chapel  all  the  time  as  motionless 
as  a  marble  figure.  That  would  be  beautiful."  Eye- 
brif^^ht  had  never  been  able  to  sit  still  for  half  an 


HOW   THE   BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.  C5 

.  hour  together  in  her  life,  but  that  made  no  difference 
in  her  enjoyment  of  this  idea.  "  The  abbess  will  be 
beautiful,  too,  but  stern  and  unrelenting,  and  she  11 
say  '  Daughters '  when  she  speaks  to  us  nuns,  and  we 
shall  say  *  Holy  Mother '  when  we  speak  to  her. 
It  11  be  real  nice.  We  shan't  have  to  do  any  darn- 
ing, but  just  embroidery  in  our  cells  and  wax  Howers. 
Wealthy  11  want  to  come  in  and  see  me,  I  know,  but 
I  shall  just  tell  the  porter  that  I  don't  want  her,  not 
ever.  '  She 's  a  heretic,'  I  shall  say  to  the  porter,  and 
he  11  lock  the  door  the  minute  he  sees  her  coming. 
Then  she  '11  be  mad !  The  Abbess  and  Mhe  Gen^- 
fride  " —  Eyebright  had  just  read  for  the  fourth  time 
Mrs.  Sherwood's  exciting  novel  called  "  The  Nun,"  so 
her  imaginary  convent  was  modelled  exactly  after  the 
one  there  described  —  "the  abbess  and  Mere  Gend- 
fride  will  always  be  spying  about  and  listening  in 
the  passage  to  hear  what  we  say,  when  we  sit  in  our 
cells  embroidering  and  telling  secrets,  but  me  and 
my  Pauline  —  no,  I  won't  call  her  Pauline  —  Eosalba 
—  sister  Eosalba  —  that  shall  be  her  name  —  we  11 
speak  so  low  that  she  can't  hear  a  word.  Then  we 
shall  suspect  that  something  strange  is  taking  place 
down  in  the  cellar,  —  I  mean  the  dungeons,  —  and 


96 


EYEBRIGHT. 


we  '11  steal  down  and  listen  when  the  abbess  and  the 
bishop  and  all  of  them  are  trying  the  sister,  who  has 
a  bible  tied  on  her  leg  ! "  Here  Eyebright  gave  an 
enormous  yawn.  "  And  —  if  —  the  —  mob  —  does 
come  —  Wealthy  —  will  be  sure  to  —  sure  to  —  " 

But  of  what  we 
shall  never  know, 
for  at  this  precise 
moment  Eyebright 
fell  asleep. 

She  must  have 
slept  a  long  time, 


ASLEEP  IN  THE  WOODS. 


for  when  she  waked  the  sun  had  changed  his  place  in 
the  sky,  and  was  shining  on  the  western  side  of  the 


HOW   THE   BLACK   DOG    HAD    HIS    DAY.         97 

village  houses.  Had  some  good  angel  passed  by, 
lifted  the  "  black  dog"  from  her  shoulder,  and  swept 
from  her  mind  all  its  foolish  and  angry  thoughts, 
while  she  dreamed  there  under  the  trees  ?  For  behold ! 
matters  and  things  now  looked  differently  to  her,  and, 
instead  of  blaming  other  people  and  thinking  hard 
things  of  them,  she  began  to  blame  herself. 

"  How  naughty  I  was,"  she  thought,  "  to  be  so  cross 
with  poor  mamma,  just  because  she  wanted  another 
cup  of  tea  1  Oh  dear,  and  I  made  her  cry  !  I  know 
it  was  me — just  because  I  looked  so  cross.  How 
horrid  I  always  am  !  And  I  was  cross  to  papa,  too, 
and  put  my  lip  out  at  him.  How  could  I  do  so  ? 
What  made  me  ?  "Wealthy  hadn't  any  business  to 
slap  me,  though  — 

"  But  then  I  was  pretty  ugly  to  Wealthy,"  she  went 
on,  her  conscience  telling  her  the  truth  at  last,  as 
consciences  will,  if  allowed.  "  I  just  tried  to  provoke 
her  —  and  I  called  her  Wealthy  Ann  Judson  !  That 
always  makes  her  mad.  She  never  slapped  me  before 
not  since  I  was  a  little  mite  of  a  girl.  Oh,  dear ! 
And  only  yesterday  she  washed  all  Genevieve's  dolly 
things  —  her  blue  muslin,  and  her  overskirt,  and  all 
—  and  she  said  she  didn't  mind  trouble  when  it 
6  o 


98  EYEBKIGHT. 

was  for  my  doll.  She  's  very  good  to  me  sometimes. 
Almost  always  she  's  good.  Oh,  I  oughtn't  to  have 
spoken  so  to  Wealthy  —  I  oughtn't  —  I  oughtn't !  " 
And  Eyebright  began  to  cry  afresh  ;  not  angry  tears 
this  time,  but  bright,  healthful  drops  of  repentance, 
which  cleansed  and  refreshed  her  soul. 

"  I  '11  go  right  home  now  and  tell  her  I  am  sorry,** 
she  said,  impetuously;  and,  jumping  from  her  seat, 
she  ran  straight  down  the  hill  and  across  the  field, 
eager  to  make  her  confession  and  to  be  forgiven.  Eye- 
bright's  fits  of  temper,  big  and  little,  usually  ended 
in  this  way.  She  had  none  of  that  dislike  of  asking 
pardon  with  which  some  persons  are  afflicted.  To 
her  it  was  a  relief  —  a  thing  to  be  met  and  gone 
through  with  for  the  sake  of  the  cheer,  the  blue-sky- 
in-the-heart,  which  lay  on  the  other  side  of  it,  and 
the  peace  which  was  sure  to  follow,  when  once  the 
"  forgive  me  "  was  spoken. 

In  at  the  kitchen  door  she  dashed.  Wealthy,  who 
was  ironing,  with  a  worried  frown  on  her  brow,  started 
and  exclaimed  at  the  sight  of  Eyebright,  and  sat  sud- 
denly down  on  a  chair.  Before  she  could  speak, 
Eyebright's  arms  were  round  her  neck. 

"  I  was  real  horrid  and  wicked  this  morning,"  she 


HOW   THE  BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.         99 

cried.  "  Please  forgive  me,  Wealthy.  I  won't  be  so 
naughty  again  —  not  ever.  Oh,  don't,  don't  1 "  for, 
to  her  dismay,  Wealthy,  the  grim,  broke  down  and 
began  to  cry.  This  was  really  dreadful.  Eyebright 
stared  a  moment ;  then  her  own  eyes  filled,  and  she 
cried,  too. 

"  What  a  fool  I  be  ! "  said  Wealthy,  dashing  the 
drops  from  her  eyes.  "  There,  Eyebright,  there ! 
Hush,  dear;  we  won't  say  any  more  about  it."  And 
she  kissed  Eyebright,  for  perhaps  the  tenth  time  in 
her  life.  Kisses  were  rare  things,  indeed,  with 
Wealthy. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ? "  she  asked  presently. 
*-It's  four  o'clock  and  after.  Did  you  know  that? 
Have  you  had  any  dinner  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  don't  want  any.  Wealthy.  I  Ve  been 
in  the  woods  on  top  of  the  hill.  I  ran  away  and  sat 
there,  and  I  guess  I  fell  asleep,"  said  Eyebright,  hang- 
ing her  head. 

"Well,  your  pa  didn't  come  home  to  dinner,  for 
a  wonder ;  I  reckon  he  was  kept  to  the  mill ;  so  we 
hadn't  much  cooked.  I  took  your  ma's  up  to  her ; 
but  I  never  let  on  that  I  didn't  know  where  you  was, 
for  fear  of  worrying  her      She  has  worried  a  good  lot 


100  EYEBEIGHT. 

any  way.  Here,  let  me  brush  your  hair  a  little,  and 
then  you  *d  better  run  upstairs  and  make  her  mind 
easy.  1 11  have  something  for  you  to  eat  when  you 
come  down." 

Eyebright*s  heart  smote  her  afresh  when  she  saw 
her  mother's  pale,  anxious  face. 

"You've  been  out  so  long,"  she  said.  "I  asked 
Wealthy,  and  she  said  she  guessed  you  were  playing 
somewhere,  and  didn't  know  how  the  time  went.  ,  I 
was  afraid  you  felt  sick,  and  she  was  keeping  it  from 
me.  It  is  so  bad  to  have  things  kept  from  me ;  noth- 
ing annoys  me  so  much.  And  you  didn't  look  well 
at  breakfast.     Are  you  sick,  Eyebright  ? " 

"  ISTo,  mamma,  not  a  bit.  But  I  have  been  naughty 
—  very  naughty  indeed,  mamma ;  and  I  ran  away." 

Then  she  climbed  up  on  the  bed  beside  her  mother, 
and  told  the  story  of  the  morning,  keeping  nothing 
back  —  all  her  hard  feelings  and  anger  at  everybody, 
and  her  thoughts  about  dying,  and  about  becoming  a 
nun.  Her  mother  held  her  hand  very  tight  indeed 
when  she  reached  this  last  part  of  the  confession. 
The  idea  of  the  wood,  also,  was  terrible  to  the  poor 
lady.  She  declared  that  she  shouldn't  sleep  a  wink 
all  night  for  thinking  about  it 


HOW   THE   BLACK  DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.      101 

"  It  wasn't  a  dangerous  wood  at  all,"  explained 
Eyebright.  "  There  wasn't  any  thing  there  that  could 
hurt  me.  Eeally  there  wasn't,  mamma.  Nothing  but 
trees,  and  stones,  and  ferns,  and  old  tumbled-down 
trunks  covered  with  tiny-weeny  mosses,  —  all  green 
and  brown  and  red,  and  some  perfectly  white,  —  so 
pretty.     I  wish  I  had  brought  you  some,  mamma." 

"Woods  are  never  safe,"  declared  Mrs.  Bright, 
"  what  with  snakes,  and  tramps,  and  wildcats,  and 
getting  lost,  and  other  dreadful  things,  I  hardly  take 
up  a  paper  without  seeing  something  or  other  bad  in 
it  which  has  happened  in  a  wood..  You  must  never 
go  there  alone  again,  Eyebright.  Promise  me  that 
you  won't.'* 

Eyebright  promised.  She  petted  and  comforted  her 
mother,  kissing  her  over  and  over  again,  as  if  to  make 
up  for  the  anxiety  she  had  caused  her,  and  for  the 
cross  words  and  looks  of  the  morning.  The  sad  thing 
is,  that  no  one  ever  does  make  up.  All  the  sweet 
-words  and  kind  acts  of  a  lifetime  cannot  undo  the 
fact  that  once  —  one  bad  day  far  away  behind  us  — 
we  were  unkind  and  gave  pain  to  some  one  whom  we 
love.  Even  their  forgiveness  cannot  undo  it.  How 
I  wish  we  could  remember  this  always  before  we  say 


102  EYEBRIGIIT 

the  words  which  we  afterward  are  so  sorry  for,  and 
thus  save  our  memories  from  the  burden  of  a  sad  load 
of  regret  and  repentance ! 

When  Eyebright  went  downstairs,  she  found  a  white 
napkin,  her  favorite  mug  filled  with  milk,  a  plateful 
of  bread  and  butter  and  cold  lamb,  and  a  large  pickled 
peach,  awaiting  her  on  the  kitchen  table.  Wealthy 
hovered  about  as  she  took  her  seat,  and  seemed  to 
have  a  disposition  to  pat  Eyebright's  shoulder  -  a 
good  deal,  and  to  stroke  her  hair.  Wealthy,  too, 
had  undergone  the  repentance  which  follows  wrath. 
Her  morning,  I  imagine,  had  been  even  more  un- 
pleasant than  Eyebright's,  for  she  had  spent  it  over 
a  hot  ironing  table,  and  had  not  had  the  refreshment 
of  running  away  into  the  woods. 

"It's  so  queer,"  said  Eyebright,  with  her  mouth 
full  of  bread  and  butter.  "  I  didn't  know  I  was  hungry 
a  bit,  but  I  am  as  hungry  as  can  be.  Every  thing  tastes 
so  good,  Wealthy." 

"That's  right,"  replied  Wealthy,  who  was  a  little 
upset,  and  tearful  still.  "  A  good  appetite  's  a  good 
thing,  —  next  best  to  a  good  conscience,  I  think." 

Eyebright's  spirits  were  mounting  as  rapidly  as 
quicksilver.     Bessie   Mather  appeared  at  tb.e  gate 


HOW   THE   BLACK   DOG   HAD   HIS   DAY.       103 

as  she  finished  her  last  mouthful,  and,  giving  Wealthy 
a  great  hug,  Eyebright  ran  out  to  meet  her,  with  a 
lightness  and  gayety  of  heart  which  surprised  even 
herself.  The  blue  sky  seemed  bluer  than  ever  before, 
the  grass  greener,  the  sunshine  was  like  yellow  gold. 
Every  little  thing  that  happened  made  her  laugh. 
It  was  as  though  a  black  cloud  had  been  rolled  away 
from  between  her  and  the  light. 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  me  so  particularly  happy 
to-night,"  she  thought,  as  she  sat  on  the  steps  waiting 
for  papa,  after  Bessie  was  gone.  "  It 's  queer  that  I 
should,  when  I  Ve  been  so  naughty  —  and  all." 

But  it  was  not  queer,  though  Eyebright  felt  it  so. 
The  world  never  looks  so  fair  and  bright  as  to  eyes 
newly  washed  by  tears  of  sorrow  for  faults  forgiven ; 
and  hearts  which  are  emptied  of  unkind  feelings  grow 
light  at  once,  as  if  happiness  were  the  rule  of  the 
world  and  not  the  exception. 


104  EYEBRIGHT 


CHAPTEE  VI. 


CHANGES. 


JT  happens  now  and  then  in  life  that  small 
circumstances  link  themselves  on  to  great 
ones,  and  in  this  way  become  important, 
when  otherwise  they  might  pass  out  of  mind  and  be 
forgotten.  Such  was  the  case  with  that  day's  naugh- 
tiness. Eyebright  remembered  it  always,  and  never 
without  a  sharp  prick  of  pain,  because  of  certain 
things  that  followed  soon  afterward,  and  of  which  I 
must  tell  you  in  this  chapter. 

Miss  Fitch's  winter  term  opened  on  the  15th  of 
September.  The  boys  and  girls  were  not  sorry  to 
begiqi  school,  I  think.  They  had  "  played  themselves 
out"  during  the  long  vacation,  and  it  was  rather  a 
pleasant  change  now  to  return  to  lessons  and  regular 
hours.  Every  thing  seemed  new  and  interesting  after 
three  months'  absence,  the  school-house,  the  Green, 


CHANGES.  105 

all  the  cubby-holes  and  hiding-places,  just  as  shabby 
playthings  laid  aside  for  a  while  come  out  looking 
quite  fresh,  and  do  not  seem  like  old  ones  at  all. 
There  was  the  beautiful  autumn  weather,  beside, 
making  each  moment  of  liberty  doubly  delightful 
Day  after  day,  week  after  week,  this  perfect  weather 
lasted,  till  it  seemed  as  though  the  skies  had  forgotten 
the  trick  of  raining,  or  how  to  be  of  any  color  except 
clear,  dazzling  blue.  The  wind  blew  softly  and  made 
lovely  little  noises  in  the  boughs,  but  there  was  a  cool 
edge  to  its  softness  now  which  added  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  breathing  it.  The  garden  beds  were  gay  as 
ever,  but  trees  began  to  show  tips  of  crimson  and 
orange,  and  now  and  then  a  brown  leaf  floated  gently 
down,  as  though  to  hint  that  summer  was  over  and 
the  autumn  really  begun.  Small  drifts  of  these 
brown  leaves  formed  in  the  hollows  of  the  road  and 
about  fence  corners.  The  boys  and  girls  kicked 
them  aside  to  get  at  the  chestnut  burs  which  had 
fallen  and  mixed  with  them,  —  spiky  burs,  half  open, 
and  showing  the  glossy-brown  nut  within.  It  was  a 
great  apple-year,  too,  and  the  orchards  were  laden 
with  ripe  fruit.  Nearly  all  the  Saturday  afternoons 
were  spent  by  the  children  in  apple-gathering  or  in 


lOG  EYEBRIGHT. 

nutting,  and  autumn  seemed  to  them  as  summer  had 
seemed  before  autumn,  spring  before  summer,  and 
winter  in  its  turn  before  spring, —  the  very  pleasant- 
est  of  the  four  pleasant  seasons  of  the  year. 

With  so  many  things  to  do,  and  such  a  stock  of 
health  and  spirits  to  make  doing  delightful,  it  is  not 
strange  that  for  a  long  time  Eyebright  remained 
unconscious  of  certain  changes  which  were  taking 
place  at  home,  and  which  older  people  saw  plainly. 
It  did  cross  her  mind  once  or  twice  that  her  mother 
seemed  feebler  than  usual,  and  Wealthy  and  papa 
worried  and  anxious,  but  the  thought  did  not  stay, 
being  crowded  out  by  thoughts  of  a  more  agreeable 
kind.  She  had  never  in  her  life  been  brought  very 
close  to  any  real  trouble.  Wealthy  had  spoken  be- 
fore her  of  Mrs.  So-and-so  as  being  "  in  affliction," 
and  she  had  seen  people  looking  sad  and  wearing 
black  clothes,  but  it-  was  like  something  in  a  book  to 
her, —  a  story  she  only  half  comprehended;  though 
she  vaguely  shrank  from  it,  and  did  not  wish  to  read 
further.  With  all  her  quick  imagination,  she  was  not 
in  the  least  morbid.  Sorrow  must  come  to  her,  she 
would  never  take  a  step  to  meet  it.  So  she  went  on, 
busy,  healthy,  happy,  full  of  bright  plans  and  fun 


CHANGES.  107 

and  merriment,  till  suddenly  one  day  sorrow  came. 
For,  running  in  from  school,  she  found  Wealthy  cry- 
ing in  the  kitchen,  and  was  told  that  her  mother  was 
worse, —  nnich  worse,-— and  the  doctor  thought  she 
could  only  live  a  day  or  two  longer. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Wealthy,"  was  all  she  could  say  at 
first.  Then,  "  Why  doesn't  Dr.  Pillsbury  give  mamma 
something  ? "  she  demanded ;  for  Eyebright  had 
learned  to  feel  a  great  respect  for  medicine,  and  to 
believe  that  it  must  be  able  to  cure  everybody. 

Wealthy  shook  her  head. 

"  It  ain't  no  use  specylating  about  more  medicines," 
she  said,  "  your  ma 's  taken  shiploads  of  *em,  and 
they  ain't  never  done  her  any  good  that  I  can  see.  No, 
Eyebright  dear ;  it 's  got  to  come,  and  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it.  It's  God's  will  I  s'pose,  and 
there  ain't  nothing  to  be  said  when  that 's  the  case." 

"  Oh,  dear !  how  can  God  will  any  thing  so  dread- 
ful ? "  sobbed  Eyebright,  feeling  as  if  she  were  brought 
face  to  face  with  a  great  puzzle.  Wealthy  could  not 
answer.  It  was  a  puzzle  to  her,  also.  But  she  took 
Eyebright  into  her  lap,  held  her  close,  and  stroked 
her  hair  gently ;  and  that  helped,  as  love  and  tender- 
ness always  da 


108  EYEBRIGHT. 

Some  very  sad  days  followed.  The  doctor  came  and 
went.  There  was  a  hush  over  the  house.  It  seemed 
wrong  to  speak  aloud  even,  and  Eyebright  found  her- 
self moving  on  tiptoe,  and  shutting  the  doors  with 
anxious  care;  yet  no  one  had  said,  "Do  not  make  a 
noise."  Everybody  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some- 
thing, but  nobody  liked  to  think  what  that  something 
might  be.  Eyebright  did  not  think,  but  she  felt  mis- 
erable. A  great  cloud  seemed  to  hang  over  all  her 
bright  little  world,  so  happy  till  then.  She  moped 
about,  with  no  heart  to  do  any  thing,  or  she  sat  in  the 
hall  outside  her  mother's  door,  listening  for  sounds. 
Now  and  then  they  let  her  creep  in  for  a  minute  to 
look  at  mamma,  who  lay  motionless  as  if  asleep ;  but 
Eyebright  could  not  keep  from  crying,  and  after  a 
little  while,  papa  would  sign  to  her  to  go,  and  she  would 
creep  out  again,  hushing  her  sobs  till  she  was  safely 
downstairs  with  the  door  shut.  It  was  such  a  mel- 
ancholy time  that  I  do  not  see  how  she  could  have 
got  through  with  it,  had  it  not  been  for  Genevieve, 
who,  dumb  as  she  was,  proved  best  comforter  of  all. 
With  her  face  buried  in  the  lap  of  Genevieve's  best 
frock,  Eyebright  might  shed  as  many  tears  as  she 
liked,  whispering  in  the   waxen  ear  how  much  she 


CHANGES, .  109 

wished  that  mamma  could  get  well,  how  good,  how  very 
good  she  always  meant  to  be  if  she  did,  and  how 
sorry  she  was  that  she  had  ever  been  naughty  or  cross 
to  her ;  especially  on  that  day,  that  dreadful  day, 
when  she  ran  off  into  the  woods,  the  recollection  of 
which  rankled  in  her  conscience  like  a  thorn.  Gene- 
vieve listened  sympathizingly,  but  not  even  her 
affection  could  pull  out  the  thorn,  or  make  its  prick 
any  easier  to  bear. 

I  do  not  like  to  tell  about  sad  things  half  so  well 
as  about  happy  ones,  so  we  will  hurry  over  this  part 
of  the  story.  Mrs.  Bright  lived  only  a  week  after 
that  evening  when  Eyebright  first  realized  that  she 
was  so  much  worse.  She  waked  up  before  she  died, 
kissed  Eyebright  for  good-by,  and  said,  "  My  helpful 
little  comfort."  These  sweet  words  were  the  one 
thing  which  made  it  seem  possible  to  live  just  then. 
All  her  life  long  they  came  back  to  Eyebright  like  the 
sound  of  music,  and  when  the  thought  of  her  childish 
faults  gave  her  pain,  these  words,  which  carried  full 
forgiveness  of  the  faults,  soothed  and  consoled  her. 
After  a  while,  as  she  grew  older,  she  learned  to  feel  that 
mamma  in  heaven  knew  much  better  than  mamma 
on  earth  could,  how  much  her  little  daughter  really 


110  EYEBRIGHT. 

had  loved  her,  and  how  it  grieved  her  now  to  remember 
that  ever  she  should  have  been  impatient  or  unkind. 

But  this  was  not  for  a  long  time  afterward,  and  mean- 
while her  chief  pleasure  was  in  remembering,  that, 
for  all  her  naughtiness,  mamma  had  kissed  her  and 
called  her  "  a  comfort "  before  she  died. 

After  the  funeral,  Wealthy  opened  the  blinds,  which 
had  been  kept  tight  shut  till  then,  and  life  returned 
to  its  usual  course.  Breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper 
appeared  regularly  on  the  table,  papa  went  again  to 
to  the  mill,  and  Eyebright  to  school.  She  felt  shy 
and  strange  at  first,  and  the  children  were  shy  of  her, 
because  of  her  black  alpaca  frock,  which  impressed 
their  imaginations  a  good  deal.  This  wore  off  as  the 
frock  wore  out,  and  by  the  time  that  Eyebright  had 
ripped  out  half  the  gathers  of  the  waist  and  torn  a 
hole  in  the  sleeve,  which  was  pretty  soon,  the  alpaca 
lost  its  awfulness  in  their  eyes^  and  had  become  as  any 
common  dress.  In  the  course  of  a  week  or  two,  Eye  • 
bright  found  herself  studying,  playing,  and  walking 
at  recess  with  Bessie,  quite  in  the  old  way.  But  all 
the  while  she  was  conscious  of  a  change,  and  a  feel- 
ing which  she  fought  with,  but  could  not  get  rid  of, 
that  things  were  not,  nor  ever  could  be,  as  they  had 
been  before  this  interruption  came. 


CHANGES.  Ill 

Home  was  changed  and  her  father  was  changed 
Eyebright  was  no  longer  careless  or  unobservant,  as 
before  her  mother's  death,  and  she  noticed  how  fast 
papa's  hair  was  turning  gray,  and  how  deep  and  care- 
worn the  lines  about  his  mouth  and  eyes  had  become. 
He  did  not  seem  to  gain  in  cheerfulness  as  time  went 
on,  but,  if  any  thing,  to  look  more  sad  and  troubled ; 
and  he  spent  much  of  his  time  at  the  cherry-wood 
desk  calculating  and  doing  sums  and  poring  over  ac- 
count-books. Eyebright  noticed  all  these  little  things, 
she  had  learned  to  use  her  eyes  now,  and  though 
nobody  said  any  thing  about  it,  she  felt  sure  that  papa 
was  worried  about  something,  and  in  need  of 
comfort. 

She  used  to  come  early  from  play,  and  peep  into 
the  sitting-room  to  see  what  he  was  doing.  If  he 
seemed  busy,  she  did  not  interrupt  him,  but  drew 
her  low  chair  to  his  side  and  sat  there  quietly,  with 
Genevieve  in  her  lap,  and  perhaps  a  book ;  not  speak- 
ing, but  now  and  then  stroking  his  knee  or  laying  her 
cheek  gently  against  it.  All  the  time  she  felt  so  sorry 
that  she  could  not  help  papa.  But  I  think  she  did 
help,  for  papa  liked  to  have  her  there,  and  the  presence 
of  a  love  which  asks  no  questions  and  is  content  willi 


112  EYEBRIGHT. 

loving,  is  most  soothing  of  all,  sometimes,  to  people 
wlio  are  in  perplexity,  and  trying  to  see  their  way 
out. 

But  none  of  Eyebright's  strokes  or  pats  or  fond 
little  ways  could  drive  the  care  away  from  her  father's 
brow.  His  trouble  was  too  heavy  for  that.  It  was 
a  kind  of  trouble  which  he  could  not  very  well  explain 
to  a  child ;  trouble  about  business  and  money, — things 
which  little  people  do  not  understand ;  and  matters 
were  getting  worse  instead  of  better.  He  was  like  a 
man  in  a  thorny  wood,  who  cannot  see  his  way  out,  and 
his  mind  was  more  confused  and  anxious  than  any 
one  except  himself  could  comprehend. 

At  last  things  came  to  such  a  pass  that  there  was  no 
choice  left,  and  he  was  forced  to  explain  to  Eyebright. 
It  was  April  by  that  time.  He  was  at  his  desk  as 
usual,  and  Eyebright,  sitting  near,  had  Genevieve 
c.iddled  in  her  lap,  and  the  "  Swiss  Family  Eobinson" 
open  before  her. 

"  iN'ow  you  're  done,  arn't  you,  papa  ! "  she  cried,  as 
he  laid  down  his  pen.  "  You  won't  write  any  more  to- 
night, will  you,  but  sit  in  the  rocking-chair  and  rest." 
She  was  jumping  up  to  get  the  chair,  when  he  stopped 
her 


CHANGES.  113 

*'  I  'm  not  through  yet,  my  dear.  But  I  want  to  talk 
with  you  for  a  little  while." 

"  0  papa,  how  nice  1  May  I  sit  on  your  knee 
while  you  talk  ? " 

Papa  said  yes,  and  she  seated  herself.  He  put  his 
arm  round  her,  and  for  a  while  stroked  her  hair  in 
silence.     Eyebright  looked  up,  wonderingly. 

"  Yes,  dear,  1 11  tell  you  presently.  I  'm  trying  to 
think  how  to  begin.  It's  something  disagreeable, 
Eyebright,  —  something  which  will  make  you  feel 
very  bad,  I  'm  afraid." 

"Oh  dear!  what  is  it?"  cried  Eyebright,  fear- 
fully.    "  Do  tell  me,  papa." 

"  What  should  you  say  if  I  told  you  that  we  can't 
live  here  any  longer,  but  must  go  away  ? " 

"  Away  from  this  house,  do  you  mean,  papa  ? " 

"  Yes,  away  from  this  house,  and  away  from  Tunxet, 
too." 

"  Not  away  for  always  ? "  said  Eyebright,  in  an 
awe-struck  tone.  "You  don't  mean  that,  papa,  do 
you  ?  We  couldn't  live  anywhere  else  for  always  !  " 
giving  a  little  gasp  at  the  very  idea. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that 's  what  it 's  coming  to,"  said  Mr, 
Bright,  sadly.     "  I  don't  see  any  other  way  to  fix  it 


114  EYEBRIGHT. 

1  Ve  lost  all  my  money,  Eyebright.  It  is  no  use  trying 
to  explain  it  to  a  child  like  you,  tut  that  is  the  case. 
All  I  had  is  gone,  nearly.  There 's  scarcely  any  thing 
left,  —  not  enough  to  live  on  here,  even  if  I  owned 
this  house,  which  I  don't." 

Not  own  their  own  house  !    This  was  incomprehen- 
sible.    What  could  papa  mean  ? 

"  But,  papa,  it 's  our  house  ! "  she  ventured  timidly. 

Papa  made  no  answer,  only  stroked  her  hair  again 
softly. 

"  And  the  mill  ?     Isn't  the  mill  yours,  papa  ? "  she 
went  on. 

"  No,  dear,  I  never  did  own  the  mill.  You  were  too 
little  to  understand  about  the  matter  when' I  took  up 
the  business.  It  belongs  to  a  company ;  do  you  know 
what  a  '  company '  means  ?  —  and  the  company  has 
failed,  so  that  the  mill  is  theirs  no  longer.  It 's  going 
to  be  sold  at  auction  soon.  I  was  only  a  manager,  and 
of  course  I  lose  my  place.  But  that  isn't  so  much 
matter.  The  real  trouble  is  that  I've  lost  my  own 
property,  too.  We're  poor  people  now,  Eyebright. 
I  've  been  calculating,  and  I  think  by  selling  oif  every 
thing  here  I  can  just  clear  myself  and  come  out  honest 
but  that 's  all.     There  '11  be  almost  nothing  left." 


CHANGES.  115 

"  Couldn't  you  get  another  mill  to  manage  ? "  asked 
Eyebright,  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  No,  there  is  no  other  mill ;  and  if  there  were,  I 
shouldn't  want  to  take  it.  I  'm  too  old  to  begin  lil'e 
over  again  in  the  place  where  I  started  when  I  wan 
a  boy  to  work  my  way  up.  I  have  worked,  too,  — 
worked  hard,  —  and  now  I  come  out  in  the  end  not 
worth  a  cent.     No,  Eyebright,  I  couldn't  do  it ! " 

He  set  her  down  as  he  spoke,  and  began  to  walk 
the  room  with  heavy,  unequal  steps.  The  old  floor 
creaked  under  his  tread.  There  was  something  very 
sad  in  the  sound. 

A  child  feels  powerless  in  the  presence  of  sudden 
misfortune.  Eyebright  sat  as  if  stunned,  while  her 
father  walked  to  and  fro.  Genevieve  slipped  from  her 
lap  and  fell  with  a  bump  on  the  carpet,  but  she  paid 
no  attention.  Genevieve  wasn't  real  to  her  just  then  ; 
only  a  jdoU.  It  was  no  matter  whether  she  bumped 
her  head  or  not. 

Mr.  Bright  came  back  to  his  chair  again. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  've  been  thinking  of,"  he  said. 
"I  own  a  little  farm  up  in  Maine.  It 's  about  the 
only  thing  I  do  own  which  hasn't  got  a  mortgage  on 
it,  or  doesn't  belong  to  some  one  else  in  one  way  oi 


116  EYEBRIGHT. 

another.  It 's  a  very  small  farm,  but  there  *s  a  house 
on  it,  —  some  kind  of  a  house,  —  and  I  think  of  mov- 
ing up  there  to  live.  I  don't  know  much  about  the 
place,  and  I  don't  like  the .  plan.  It  '11  be  lonely  for 
you,  for  the  farm  is  on  an  island,  it  seems,  and  there 's 
no  one  else  living  there,  no  children  for  you  to  play 
with,  and  no  school.  These  are  disadvantages ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  climate  is  said  to  be  good,  and 
I  suppose  I  can  raise  enough  up  there  for  our  living, 
and  not  run  into  debt,  which  is  the  thing  I  care  most 
for  just  now.  So  I've  about  decided  to  try  it.  I'm 
sorry  to  break  up  your  schooling,  and  to  take  you 
away  from  here,  where  you  like  it  so  much ;  but  it 
seems  the  only  way  open.  And  if  you  could  go  cheer- 
fully, my  dear,  and  make  the  best  of  things,  it  would 
be  a  great  comfort  to  me.     That 's  all  I  've  got  to  say." 

Eyebright's  mind  had  been  at  work  through  this 
long  sentence.  Her  reply  astonished  her  father  not 
a  little,  it  was  so  bright  and  eager. 

"  What  is  the  island  in,  papa  ?    A  lake  ? " 

"  N^o,  not  a  lake.  It 's  in  the  sea,  but  very  near 
the  coast.  I  think  there 's  some  way  of  walking 
across  at  low  tide,  but  I  'm  not  sure." 

"  I    think  —  I  'm    rather  glad,"    said   Eyebright, 


CHANGES.  ri7 

slowly.  "  I  always  did  want  to  live  on  an  island 
and  I  never  saw  the  sea.  Don't  feel  badly,  papa^ 
I  guess  we  shall  like  it." 

Mr.  Bright  was  relieved;  but  he  couldn't  help 
shaking  his  head  a  little,  nevertheless. 

"  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  find  it  pretty 
lonesome,"  he  said,  compassionately. 

"  The  Swiss  Family  Eobinson  didn't,"  replied 
Eyebright.  "  But  then,"  she  added,  "  there  were 
six  of  them.  And  there  '11  only  be  four  of  us  — 
counting  Genevieve." 

If  Eyebright  had  taken  the  news  too  calmly, 
Wealthy  made  up  for  it  by  her  wild  and  incredulous 
wrath  when  in  turn  it  was  broken  to  her. 

"  Pity's  sakes  ! "  she  cried.  "  Whatever  is  the 
man  a-thinking  about  ?  Carry  you  off  to  Maine, 
indeed,  away  from  folks  and  church  and  every  thing 
civilized  !  He  's  crazy,  —  that  *s  what  he  is,  —  as 
crazy  as  a  loon !  " 

"  Papa 's  not  crazy.  You  mustn't  say  such  things, 
Wealthy,"  replied  Eyebright,  indignantly.  "  He  feels 
real  badly  about  going.  But  we  've  got  to  go.  We  've 
lost  all  our  money,  and  we  can't  stay  here." 

"A  desert  island,  too!"  went  on  Wealthy,  pur- 


118  EYEBRTGHT. 

suing  her  own  train  of  reflection.  "Crocodiles  and 
cannibals,  I  suppose !  I  Ve  heard  what  a  God-for- 
saken place  it  is  up  there.  Who 's  going  to  look  after 
you,  I'd  like  to  know?  —  you,  who  never  in  your 
life  remembered  your  rubber  shoes  when  it  rained, 
or  knew  winter  flannels  from  summer  ones,  or  best 
frocks  from  common  ? ''     Words  failed  her.  -f- 

"  Why,  Wealthy,  shan't  you  come  with  us  ? " 
cried  Eyebright,  in  a  startled  tone. 

"  I  ?  No,  indeed,  and  I  shan't  then  ! "  returned 
Wealthy.  "  I  'm  not  such  a  fool  as  all  that.  Maine, 
indeed  ! "  Then,  her  heart  melting  at  the  distress 
in  Eyebright's  face,  she  swooped  upon  her,  squeezed 
her  hard,  and  said :  "  What  a  cross-grained  piece  I 
be  !  Yes,  Eyebright  dear,  I  '11  go  along.  I  '11  go,  no 
matter  where  it  is.  You  shan't  be  trusted  to  that 
Pa  of  yours  if  I  can  help  it;  and  that's  my  last 
word  in  the  matter." 

Eyebright  flew  to  papa  with  the  joyful  news  that 
Wealthy  was  willing  to  go  with  them.  Mr.  Bright 
looked  dismayed. 

"It's  out  of  the  question,"  he  replied.  "I  can't 
afford  it,  for  one  thing.  The  journey  costs  a  good 
deal,  and  when  she  got  there,  Wealthy  would  prob- 


CHANGES.  119 

ably  not  like  it,  and  would  want  to  come  back 
again,  which  would  be  money  thrown  away.  Be- 
side, it  is  doubtful  if  we  shall  be  able  to  keep  any 
regular  help.  No,  Eyebright ;  we  'd  better  not 
think  of  it,  even.  You  and  I  will  start  alone,  and 
we  '11  get  some  woman  there  to  come  and  work 
when  it 's  necessary.  That  '11  be  as  much  as  I  can 
manage." 

Of  course,  when  Wealthy  found  that  there  were 
objections,  her  wish  to  go  increased  tenfold.  She 
begged,  and  Eyebright  pleaded,  but  papa  held  to 
his  decision.  There  was  no  helping  it,  but  this 
difference  in  opinion  made  the  household  very  un- 
comfortable for  a  while.  Wealthy  felt  injured,  and 
went  about  her  work  grimly,  sighing  conspicuously 
now  and  then,  or  making  dashes  at  Eyebright,  kiss- 
ing her  furiously,  shedding  a  few  tears,  and  then 
beginning  work  again,  all  in  stony  silence.  Papa 
shut  himself  up  more  closely  than  ever  with  his 
account-books,  and  looked  sadder  every  day;  and 
Eyebright,  though  she  strove  to  act  as  peacemaker 
and  keep  a  cheerful  face,  felt  her  heart  heavy 
enough  at  times,  when  she  thought  of  what  was 
at  hand. 


120  EYEBKIGHT. 

They  wei^e  to  start  early  in  May,  and  she  left 
school  at  once ;  for  there  was  much  to  be  done  in 
which  she  could  help  Wealthy,  and  the  time  was 
but  short  for  the  doing  of  it  all.  The  girls  were 
sorry  when  they  heard  that  Eyebright  was  going 
away  to  live  in  Maine,  and  Bessie  cried  one  whole 
recess,  and  said  she  never  expected  to  be  happy 
again.  Still,  the  news  did  not  make  quite  as  much 
sensation  as  Eyebright  had  expected,  and  she  had  a 
little  sore  feeling  at  her  heart,  as  if  the  others  cared 
less  about  losing  her  than  she  should  have  cared 
had  she  been  in  their  place.  This  idea  cost  her 
some  private  tears  ;  she  comforted  herself  by  a 
poem  which  she  called  "  Fickleness,"  and  which 
began : 

"  It  is  wicked  to  be  fickle, 
And  very,  very  unkind, 
And  I  'd  be  ashamed  "  — 

but  no  rhyme  to  fickle  could  she  find  except 
"pickle,"  and  it  was  so  hard  to  work  that  in,  that 
she  gave  up  writing  the  verses,  and  only  kept  away 
from  the  girls  for  a  few  days.  But  for  all  Eye- 
bright's  doubts,  the  girls  did  care,  only  Examina- 
tion  was   coming  on,  and   they  were   too   busy  in 


CHANGES.  121 

learning  the  pieces  they  were  to  speak,  and  prac- 
tising for  a  writing  prize  which  Miss  Eitch  had 
promised  them,  to  realize  just  then  how  sorry  they 
were.  It  came  afterward,  when  the  Examination  was 
over,  and  Eyebright  really  gone ;  and  it  was  a  long 
time  —  a  year  or  two  at  least  —  before  any  sort  of 
festival  or  picnic  could  take  place  in  Tunxet  with- 
out some  child's  saying,  wistfully  :  "  I  wish  Eyebright 
was  here  to  go ;  don't  you  ? "  Could  Eyebright 
liave  known  this,  it  would  have  comforted  her  very 
much  during  those  last  weeks ;  but  the  pity  is,  we 
can't  know  things  beforehand  in  this  world. 

So,  after  all,  her  chief  consolation  was  Genevieve, 
to  whom  she  could  tell  any  thing  without  fear  of 
making  mischief  or  being  contradicted. 

"  There 's  just  one  thing  I  'm  glad  about,"  she 
said  to  this  chosen  confidante,  "and  that  is  that 
it 's  an  island.  I  never  saw  any  islands,  neither  did 
you,  Genevieve;  but  I  know  they  must  be  lovely. 
And  I  'm  glad  it 's  in  the  sea,  too.  But,  oh  dear, 
my  poor  child,  how  will  you  get  along  without  any 
other  dolls  to  play  with  ?  You  '11  be  very  lonely, 
sometimes  —  very  lonely,  indeed  —  I  'm  afraid." 
6 


122  KYEBRIGHT. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BETWEEK  THI  OLI  HOME  AND  THE  NEW. 

fEALTHY,"  said  Eyebriglit,  "I  want  to 
tell  you  something." 

Wealthy  was  kneading  bread,  her. 
arms  rising  and  falling  with  a  strong,  regular  motion, 
like  the  piston  of  a  steam-engine.  Slie  did  not  even 
turn  her  head,  but  dusting  a  little  flour  on  to  the  dough, 
went  straight  on  saying  briefly,  — 

"  Well,  what  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  been  thinking,"  continued  Eyebright,  "  that 
when  papa  and  I  get  to  the  Island,  perhaps  some 
days  there  won't  be  anybody  to  do  the  cooking  but 
me,  and  it  would  be  so  nice  if  you  would  teach  me  a 
few  things,  —  not  hard  ones,  you  know,  —  little  easy 
things.  I  know  how  to  toast  now,  and  how  to  boil 
eggs,  and  make  shortcake,  and  stew  rhubarb,  but 
papa  would  get  tired  of  those  if  he  didn't  have  any 
thing  else,  I  am  afraid." 


BETWEEN   THE  OLD   HOME  AND   THE  NEW.    123 

"  You  and  your  Pa  '11  go  pretty  hungry,  I  guess,  if 
tliere  's  no  one  but  you  to  do  the  cooking,"  muttered. 
Wealthy.  "  "JVell,  what  would  you  like  to  learn  ? " 
"  Is  bread  easy  to  make  ?  I  'd  like  to  learn  that." 
"  You  ain't  hardly  strong  enough,"  said  Wealthy, 
with  a  sigh,  but  she  set  her  bowl  on  a  chair  as  she 
spoke,  and  proceeded  to  give  Eyebright  a  kneading 
lesson  on  the  spot.  It  was  much  more  fatiguing  than 
Eyebright  had  supposed  it  would  be.  Her  back  and 
arms  ached  for  a  long  time  afterward,  but  Wealthy 
said  she  "  got  the  hang  of  it  wonderfully  for  a  be- 
ginner," and  this  praise  encouraged  her  to  try  again. 
Every  Wednesday  and  Saturday,  after  that,  she  made 
the  bread,  from  the  sifting  of  the  flour  to  the  final 
wrap  of  the  hot  loaf  in  a  brown  towel,  Wealthy  only 
helping  a  very  little,  and  each  time  the  task  seemed 
to  grow  easier,  so  that,  before  they  went  away,  Eye- 
bright  felt  that  she  had  that  lesson  at  her  fingers' 
ends.  Wealthy  taught  her  other  things  also,  —  to 
broil  a  beefsteak,  and  poach  an  egg,  to  make  ginger- 
bread and  minute  biscuit,  fry  Indian  pudding,  and 
prepare  and  flavor  the  "  dip  "  for  soft  toast.  AU  these 
lessons  were  good  for  her,  and  in  more  senses  than  one. 
Many  a  heart-ache  flew  up  the  chimney  and  forgot  to 


124  EYEBRIGHT. 

come  down  again,  as  she  leaned  over  her  sauce- 
pans, stirring,  tasting,  and  seasoning.  Many  a  hard 
thought  about  the  girls  and  their  not  caring  as  they 
ought  about  her  going,  slipped  away,  and  came  back 
brightened  into  good-humor,  in  the  excitement  of 
watching  the  biscuits  rise,  or  moulding  them  into 
exact  form  and  size.  And  how  pleasant  it  was  if 
Wealthy  praised  her,  or  papa  asked  for  a  second  help- 
ing of  something  and  said  it  was  good. 

Meanwhile,  the  business  of  breaking  up  was  going 
on.  "Wealthy,  whose  ideas  were  of  the  systematic  old- 
fashioned  kind,  began  at  the  very  top  of  the  house  and 
came  slowly  down,  clearing  the  rooms  out  in  regular 
order,  scrubbing,  sweeping,  and  leaving  bare,  chill 
cleanness  behind  her.  Part  of  the  furniture  was 
packed  to  go  to  the  Island,  but  by  far  the  greater 
part  was  brought  down  to  the  lower  floor,  and  stacked 
in  the  best  parlor,  ready  for  an  auction,  which  was  to 
take  place  on  the  last  day  but  one.  It  was  truly 
wonderful  how  many  things  the  house  seemed  to 
contain,  and  what  queer  articles  made  their  appear- 
ance out  of  obscure  holes  and  corners,  in  the  course 
of  Wealthy's  rummagings.  There  were  old  fire-irons, 
old  crockery,  bundles  of  herbs,  dried  so  long  ago  that 


BETWEEN   THE   OLD   HOME  AND  THE   NEW.    126 

all  taste  and  smell  had  departed,  and  no  one  now 
could  guess  which  was  sage  and  which  catnip; 
scrap-bundles,  which  made  Eyebright  sigh  and  ex- 
claim, "  Oh  dear,  what  lots  of  dresses  I  would  have 
made  for  Genevieve,  if  only  I  had  known  we  had 
these!"  There  were  boxes  full  of  useless  things, 
screws  without  heads,  and  nails  without  points,  stop- 
ples which  stopped  nothing,  bottles  of  medicine  which 
had  lost  their  labels,  and  labels  which  had  lost  their 
bottles.  Some  former  inhabitant  of  the  house  had 
evidently  been  afflicted  with  mice,  for  six  mouse-traps 
were  discovered,  all  of  different  patterns,  all  rusty, 
and  all  calculated  to  discourage  any  mouse  who  ever 
nibbled  cheese.  There  were  also  three  old  bird-cages, 
in  which,  since  the  memory  of  man,  no  bird  had  ever 
lived ;  a  couple  of  fire-buckets  of  ancient  black  leather, 
which  Eyebright  had  seen  hanging  from  a  rafter  all 
her  life  without  suspecting  their  use,  and  a  gun  of 
Eevolutionary  pattern  which  had  lost  its  lock.  All 
these  were  to  be  sold,  and  so  was  the  hay  in  the  barn, 
as  also  were  the  chickens  and  chicken-coops;  even 
Brindle  and  old  Charley. 

The  day  before  the  auction,  a  man  came  and  pasted 
labels  with  numbers  on  them  upon  all  the  things.    Eye- 


126  EYEBRlCiMT. 

bright  found  "  24"  stuck  on  the  side  of  her  own  spec- 
ial little  stool,  which  papa  had  said  she  might  take  to 
the  Island,  but  which  had  been  forgotten.  She  tore 
off  the  label,  and  hid  the  stool  in  a  closet,  but  it  made 
her  feel  as  if  every  thing  in  the  house  was  going  to 
be  sold  whether  or  no,  and  she  half  turned  and  looked 
over  her  shoulder  at  her  own  back,  as  if  she  feared  to 
find  a  number  there  also.  Wealthy,  who  was  piling 
the  chairs  together  by  twos,  laughed. 

"I  guess  they  won't  put  you  up  to  'vandoo,'"  she 
said ;  "  or,  if  they  do,  1 11  be  the  first  to  bid.  There, 
that 's  tlie  last !  I  never  did  see  such  a  heap  of  rub- 
bish as  come  out  of  that  garret;  your  Ma,  and  your 
(rrandma,  too,  I  reckon,  never  thro  wed  away  any  thing 
in  all  their  days.  Often  and  often  I  used  to  propose 
to  clean  out  and  kind  of  sort  over  the  things,  but  your 
Ma,  she  wouldn't  ever  let  me.  They  was  sure  to 
come  in  useful  some  day,  she  said;  but  that  day 
never  come,  —  and  there  they  be,  moth-and-rust-cor- 
rupted,  sure  enough !  Well,  't  ain't  no  use  layin'  up 
treasures  upon  earth.  We  all  find  that  out  when  we 
come  to  clear  up  after  fifty  years'  savin.'  " 

ISText  morning  proved  fine  and  sunny,  and  great 
numbers  of   people  came  to  the  auction.     Some  of 


BETWEEN   THE   OLD   HOME   AND   THE   NEW.    127 

them  brought  their  dinners  in  pails,  and  stayed  all  day, 
for  auctions  do  not  occur  very  often  in  the  country, 
and  are  great  events  when  they  do.  Eyebright,  who 
did  not  know  exactly  how  to  dispose  of  herself,  sat 
on  the  stairs,  high  up,  where  no  one  could  see  her,  and 
listened  to  the  auctioneer's  loud  voice  calling  off  the 
numbers  and  bids.  "'No.  17,  one  clock, —  who  bids 
two  dollars  for  the  clock?  No.  18,  lounge  covered 
with  calliker.  I  am  offered  seven-fifty  for  the  lounge 
covered  with  calliker.  Who  bids  eight  ?  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Brown  —  going  at  eight  —  gone."  And  No.  17 
was  the  kitchen  clock,  which  had  told  her  the  hour 
80  many,  many  times  ;  the  lounge  covered  with  "  cal- 
liker "  was  mother's  lounge,  on  which  she  had  so  often 
lain.  It  seemed  very  sad,  somehow,  that  they  should 
be  "going  —  gone." 

Later  in  the  day  she  saw,  from  the  window,  people 
driving  away  in  their  wagons  with  their  bargains  piled 
in  behind  them,  or  set  between  their  knees,  —  papa's 
shaving-glass,  Wealthy's  wash-tubs,  the  bedstead 
from  the  best  room.  She  could  hardly  keep  from 
crying.  It  seemed  as  if  the  pleasant  past  life  in  the 
old  house  were  all  broken  up  into  little  bits,  and  going 
ofif  in  different  directions  in  those  wagons. 


128  EYEBRIGHT. 

Sli.'  was  still  at  the  window  when  Wealthy 
came  up  to  search  for  her.  Eyebright's  face  was 
very  sober,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears  on  her 
cheeks. 

'•Eyebright,  where  are  you?  Don't  stay  mopin' 
up  here,  't  ain't  no  use.  Come  down  and  help  me  get 
tea.  I  've  made  a  good  fire  in  the  sittin'-room,  and 
we  '11  all  be  the  better  for  supper,  I  reckon.  Auctions 
is  wearin'  things,  and  always  will  be  to  the  end  of 
time.     Your  Pa  looks  clean  tuckered  out." 

"Are  all  the  people  gone  ?  "  asked  Eyebright. 

"  Yes,  they  have,  and  good  riddance  to  them.  It 
made  me  madder  than  hops  to  hear  'em  a-boastin'  of 
the  bargains  they'd  got.  Mrs.  Doolittle,  up  to  the 
corner,  bid  in  that  bureau  from  the  keepin'-room 
chamber  for  seven  dollars.  It  was  worth  fifteen  ;  the 
auction-man  said  so  himself.  But  to  kind  of  match 
that,  her  daughter-in-law,  she  giv'  thirty  cents  a  yard 
for  that  rag-carpet  in  your  room,  and  it  didn't  cost 
but  fifty  when  it  was  new,  and  that  was  twelve  years 
ago  next  IN'ovember !  So  I  guess  we  come  out  pretty 
even  with  the  Doolittle  family,  after  all!"  added 
Wealthy,  with  a  dry  chuckle. 

Eyebright  followed  downstairs.    The  rooms  looked 


BETWEEN    THE   OLD   HOME   AND    THE   NEW.    129 

bare  and  unhomelike  with  only  the  few  pieces  of  furn- 
iture left  which  Wealthy  had  bid  in  for  her  private 
use ;  for  Wealthy  did  not  mean  to  live  out  any  more, 
but  have  a  small  house  of  her  own,  and  support  her- 
self by  "  tailorin'."  She  had  bought  a  couple  of  beds, 
a  table,  a  few  chairs,  and  some  cooking  things,  so  it 
was  possible,  though  not  very  comfortable,  to  spend 
one  night  more  in  the  house.  Eyebright  peeped  into 
the  empty  parlor  and  shut  the  door. 

"Don't  let's  open  it  again,"  she  said.  "We'll 
make  believe  that  every  thing  is  there  still,  just  as  it 
used  to  be,  and  then  it  won't  seem  so  dismal." 

But  in  spite  of  "  make-believes,"  it  would  have  been 
dismal  enough  had  they  not  been  too  busy  to  think 
how  altered  and  forlorn  the  house  looked.  One  more 
day  of  hard  work,  and  all  w^as  cleared  out  and  made 
clean.  Wealthy  followed  with  her  broom  and  act- 
ually "  swept  herself  out,"  as  Eyebright  said,  brushing 
the  last  shreds  and  straws  through  the  door  on  to 
the  steps,  where  the  others  stood  w^aiting.  Mr.  Bright 
locked  the  door.  The  key  turned  in  the  rusty  lock 
with  a  sound  like  a  groan.  Mr.  Bright  stood  a  mo- 
ment without  speaking ;  then  he  handed  the  key  to 
Wealthy,  shook  hands  with  her,  and  walked  quickJy 
6*  2 


130  EYEBRIGHT. 

away  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Bury's  house,  where  na 
and  Eyebriglit  were  to  spend  the  night. 

Wealthy  was  feeling  badly  over  the  loss  of  her  old 
home ;  and  emotion,  with  her,  always  tock  the  form 
of  gruffness. 

"!N"o  need  to  set  about  kissing  to-night,"  she  said, 
as  Eyebright  held  up  her  face,  "I'm  a-comin'  n  und 
to  see  you  off  to-morrow." 

Then  she,  too,  stalked  away.  Eyebright  looked 
after  her  for  a  little  while,  then  very  slowly  she  opened 
the  garden-gate,  and  went  the  round  of  the  place  once 
moie,  saying  good-by  with  her  eyes  to  each  well- 
known  object.  The  periwinkle  bed  was  blue  with 
flowers,  the  daffodils  were  just  opening  their  bright 
cups.  "  Old  maids,"  Wealthy  had  been  used  to  call 
them,  because  their  ruffled  edges  were  so  neatly 
trimmed  and  pinked.  There  was  the  apple-tree  crotch, 
where,  every  summer  since  she  could  remember,  her 
swing  had  hung.  There  was  her  own  little  garden,  bare 
now  and  brown  with  the  dead  stalks  of  last  year. 
How  easy  it  would  be  to  make  it  pretty  again  if  only 
they  were  going  to  stay !  The  "  cave  "  had  fallen  in, 
to  be  sure,  and  was  only  a  hole  in  the  ground,  but  a 
cave  is  soon  made.     She  could  have  another  in  no 


BETWEEN   THE    OLD    HOME   AND    THE   NEW.    131 

time  if  only  —  here  Eyebright  checked  herself,  recol- 
lecting that  ''  if  only  "  did  not  help  the  matter  a  bit, 
and,  like  a  sensible  child,  she  walked  bravely  away 
from  the  garden  and  through  the  gateway.  She 
paused  one  moment  to  look  at  the  sun,  which  was 
Retting  in  a  sky  of  clear  yellow,  over  which  little 
crimson  clouds  drifted  like  a  fleet  of  fairy  boats.  The 
orchards  and  hedges  were  budding  fast.  Here  and 
there  a  cherry-tree  had  already  tied  on  its  white  hood. 
The  air  was  full  of  sweet  prophetic  smells.  Alto- 
gether, Tunxet  was  at  its  very  prettiest  and  pleasant- 
est,  and,  for  all  her  good  resolutions,  Eyebright  gave 
way,  and  wept  one  little  weep  at  the  thought  that 
to-morrow  she  and  papa  must  leave  it  all. 

She  dried  her  eyes  soon,  for  she  did  not  want  papa 
to  know  she  had  been  crying,  and  followed  to  Mrs. 
Bury's,  where  Kitty  and  the  children  were  impatiently 
looking  out  for  her,  and  every  one  gave  her  a  hearty 
welcome.. 

But  in  spite  of  their  kindness,  and  the  fun  of 
sleeping  with  Kitty  for  the  first  time,  it  seemed 
grave  and  lonesome  to  be  anywhere  except  in  the 
old  place  where  she  had  always  been,  and  Eyebright 
began   to  be   glad  that   she   and   papa  were   to  go 


132  EYEBRIGHT. 

away  so  soon.  The  home  feeling  had  vanished  froiD 
Tunxet,  and  the  quicker  they  were  off,  the  better, 
she  thought. 

The  next  morning,  they  left,  starting  before  six 
o'clock,  for  the  railroad  was  five  miles  away.  Earl}/ 
as  it  was,  several  people  were  there  to  say  good-by,  — 
Bessie  Mather,  Laura  Wheelwright,  —  who  hadn't 
taken  time  even  to  wash  her  face,  —  Wealthy,  very 
gray  and  grim  and  silent,  and  dear  Miss  Fitch,  to 
whom  Eyebright  clung  till  the  very  end.  The  last 
bag  was  put  in,  Mr.  Bury  kissed  Eyebright  and  lifted 
her  into  the  wagon,  where  papa  and  Ben  were  already 
seated.  Good-bys  were  exchanged.  Bessie,  drowned 
in  tears,  climbed  on  the  wheel  for  a  last  hug,  and  was 
pulled  down  by  some  one.  Ben  gave  a  chirrup,  the 
horses  began  to  move,  and  that  was  the  end  of  dear 
old  Tunxet.  The  last  thing  Eyebright  saw,  as  she 
turned  for  a  final  look,  was  Wealthy's  grim,  sad 
face,  —  poor  Wealthy,  who  had  lost  most  and  felt 
sorriest  of  all,  though  she  said  so  little  about  it. 

It  was  a  mile  or  two  before  Eyebright  could  see 
any  thing  distinctly.  She  sat  with  her  head  turned 
away,  that  papa  might  not  notice  her  wet  eyes.  But 
perhaps  his  own  were  a  little  misty,  for  he,  too,  turned 


BETWEEN  THE  OLD  HOME  AND  THE  NEW.  133 

his  head,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  spoke. 
The  beautiful  morning  and  the  rapid  motion  were 
helps  to  cheerfulness,  however,  and  before  they 
reached  the  railroad  station  Mr.  Bright  had  begun  to 
talk  to  Ben,  and  Eyebright  to  smile. 

She  had  never  travelled  on  a  railroad  before,  and  you 
can  easily  imagine  how  surprising  it  all  seemed  to  her. 
At  first  it  frightened  her  to  go  so  fast,  but  that  soon 
wore  off,  and  all  the  rest  was  enjoyment.  Little 
things,  which  people  used  to  railroads  hardly  notice, 
struck  her  as  strange  and  pleasant.  When  the  maga- 
zine-boy chucked '' Ballou's  Dollar  Monthly"  into  her 
lap,  she  jumped,  and  said,  "  Oh,  thank  you ! "  and  she 
was  quite  overcome  by  the  successive  gifts,  as  she 
supposed,  of  a  paper  of  pop-corn,  a  paper  of  lozenges, 
and  a  "  prize  package,"  containing  six  envelopes,  six 
sheets  of  note-paper,  six  pens,  a  wooden  pen-handle 
and  a  "piece  of  jewelry,"  —  all  for  twenty-five  cents ! 

"Did  he  really  give  them  to  me  ? "  she  asked  papa, 
quite  gasping  at  the  idea  of  such  generosity. 

Then  the  ice-water  boy  came  along,  with  his  frame 
of  tumblers ;  she  had  a  delicious  cold  drink,  and  told 
papa  "she  did  think  the  railroad  was  so  kind,'* 
which  made   him  laugh ;   and,  as  seeing  him  laugh 


134  EYEBRIGHT. 

brightened  her  spirits,  they  journeyed  on  very  cheer- 
fuUy. 

About  noon,  they  changed  cars,  and  presently  after 
that  Eyebright  became  aware  of  a  change  in  the  air, 
a  cool  freshness  and  odor  of  salt  and  weeds,  which 
she  had  never  smelt  before,  and  liked  amazingly. 
She  was  just  going  to  ask  papa  about  it  when  the 
train  made  a  sudden  curve  and  swept  alongside  a 
yellow  beach,  beyond  which  lay  a  great  shining  ex- 
panse,—  gray  and  silvery  and  blue,  —  over  which 
dappled  foamy  waves  played  and  leaped,  and  large 
white  birds  were  skimming  and  diving.  She  drew  a 
long  breath  of  delight,  and  said,  half  to  herself  and 
half  to  papa,  "  That  is  the  sea  ! " 

"  How  did  you  know  ? "  asked  he,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  papa,  it  couldn't  be  any  thing  else.  I  knew 
it  in  a  minute." 

After  that,  they  were  close  to  the  sea  almost  all 
the  way.  Eyebright  felt  as  if  she  could  never  be  tired 
of  watching  the  waves  rise  and  fall,  or  of  breathin*.' 
the  air,  which  seemed  to  fill  and  satisfy  her  like  food 
though  it  made  her  hungry,  too,  and  she  was  glad  oi 
the  nice  luncheon  which  Mr.  Bury  had  packed  up  for 
them.     But  even  pleasant  things  have  a  tiring  side  to 


BETWEEN  THE  OLD  HOME  AND  THE  NEW.  135 

them,  and  as  night  drew  on,  Eyebright  began  to  think 
she  should  be  as  glad  of  bed  as  she  had  been  of  din- 
ner. 

Her  heavy  head  had  been  nodding  for  some  time, 
and  had  finally  dropped  upon  papa's  shoulder,  when 
ho  roused  her  with  a  shake  and  said,  — 

"  Wake  up,  Eyebright,  wake  up  !  Here  we  are." 
"  At  the  Island  ? "  she  asked,  drowsily. 
*'  No,  not  at  the  Island  yet.  This  is  the  steamboat." 
To  see  a  steamboat  had  always  been  one  of  Eye- 
bright's  chief  wishes,  but  she  was  too  sleepy  at  that 
moment  to  realize  that  it  was  granted.  Her  feet 
stumbled  as  papa  guided  her  down  the  stair;  she 
could  not  keep  her  eyes  open  at  all.  The  stewardess 
—  a  colored  woman  —  laughed  when  she  saw  the  half- 
awake  little  passenger ;  but  she  was  very  good-natured, 
whipped  off  Eyebright's  boots,  hat,  and  jacket,  in  a 
twinkling,  and  tucked  her  into  a  little  berth,  where 
in  three  minutes  she  was  napping  like  a  dormouse. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  whistling  and  screeching 
and  ringing  of  bells  when  the  boat  left  her  dock,  heavy 
feet  trampled  over  the  deck  just  above  the  berth,  the 
water  lapped  and  hissed ;  but  not  one  of  these  things 
did  Eyebright  hear,  nor  was  she  conscious  of  the  rock* 


136  EYEBRIGHT. 

ing  motion  of  the  waves.  Straight  through  them  all 
she  slept ;  and  when  at  last  she  waked,  the  boat  was  no 
longer  at  sea,  and  there  was  hardly  any  motion  to  be 
felt. 

It  was  not  yet  six  o'clock.  The  shut-up  cabin 
w^as  dark  and  close,  except  for  one  ray  of  yellow  sun, 
which  straggled  through  a  crack,  and  lay  across  the 
carpet  like  a  long  finger.  It  flickered,  and  seemed  to 
beckon,  as  if  it  wanted  to  say,  "  Get  up,  Eyebright,  it 
is  morning  at  last ;  get  up,  and  come  out  with  me." 
She  felt  so  rested  and  fresh  that  the  invitation  wasj 
irresistible ;  and  slipping  from  the  berth,  she  put  on 
dress  and  boots,  which  were  laid  on  a  chair  near  by, 
tied  the  hat  over  her  unbrushed  hair,  and  with  her 
warm  jacket  in  hand,  stole  out  of  the  cabin  and  ran 
lightly  upstairs  to  the  deck. 

Then  she  gave  a  great  start,  and  said,  "  Oh  ! "  with 
mingled  wonder  and  surprise ;  for,  instead  of  the  ocean 
which  she  had  expected  to  see,  the  boat  was  steaming 
gently  up  a  broad  river.  On  either  side  was  a  bold, 
wooded  shore.  The  trees  were  leafless  still,  for  this 
was  much  farther  north  than  Tunxet,  but  the  rising  sap 
had  tinted  their  boughs  with  lovely  shades  of  yellow, 
Boft  red,  and  pink-brown,  and  there  were  quantities  of 


BETWEEN  THE  OLD  HOME  AND  THE  NEW.  137 

evergreens  beside,  so  that  the  woods  did  not  look  cold 
or  bare.  Every  half  mile  or  so  the  river  made  a  bend 
and  curved  away  in  a  new  direction.  It  was  never 
possible  to  see  far  ahead,  and,  as  the  steamer  swept 
through  the  clear  green  and  silver  water,  it  contin- 
ually seemed  that,  a  little  farther  on,  the  river  came  to 
end,  and  there  was  no  way  out  except  to  turn  back. 
But  always  when  the  boat  reached  the  place  where  the 
end  seemed  to  be,  behold,  a  new  reach  of  water,  with 
new  banks  and  tree-crowned  headlands,  appeared,  so 
that  their  progress  was  a  succession  of  surprises.  Here 
and  there  were  dots  of  islands  too,  just  big  enough  to 
afford  standing-room  to  a  dozen  pines  and  hemlocks, 
so  closely  crowded  together  that  the  trees  next  the 
edge  almost  seemed  to  be  holding  fast  by  their  com- 
panions while  they  leaned  over  to  look  at  their  own 
faces  in  the  water. 

These  tiny  islets  enchanted  Eyebright.  With  each 
one  they  passed  she  thought,  "  Oh,  I  hope  ours  is  just 
like  that ! "  never  reflecting  that  these  were  rather 
play  islands  than  real  ones,  and  that  Genevieve  was 
the  only  member  of  the  family  likely  to  be  comfort- 
able in  such  limited  space  as  they  afforded.  She  had 
the  deck  and  the  river  to  herself  for  nearly  an  hour 


138  EYEBRIGHT. 

before  any  of  the  passengers  appeared;  when  they 
did,  she  remembered,  with  a  blush,  that  her  hair  was 
still  unbrushed,  and  ran  back  to  the  cabin,  when  the 
stewardess  made  it  tidy,  and  gave  her  a  basin  of 
fresh  water  for  her  face  and  hands.  She  came  back 
just  in  time  to  meet  papa,  who  was  astonished  at  the 
color  in  her  cheek  and  the  appetite  she  displayed  at 
breakfast,  which  was  served  in  a  stuffy  cabin  smelling 
of  kerosene  oil  and  bed-clothes,  and  calculated  to  dis- 
courage any  appetite  not  sharpened  by  early  morning 
air. 

Little  did  Eyebright  care  for  the  stuffy  cabin.  She 
found  the  boat  and  all  its  appointments  delightful ; 
and  when,  after  breakfast,  the  old  captain  took  her 
down  to  the  engine-room  and  showed  her  the  machin- 
ery, she  fairly  skipped  with  pleasure.  It  was  a  sort  of 
noisy  fairy-land  to  her  imagination;  all  those  won- 
derful cogs  and  wheels,  and  shining  rods  and  shafts, 
moving  and  working^ together  so  smoothly  and  so  power- 
fully. She  was  sorry  enough  when,  at  eleven  o*clock, 
they  left  the  boat,  and  landed  at  a  small  hamlet,  which 
seemed  to  have  no  name  as  yet,  perhaps  because  it  was 
so  very  young.  Eyebright  asked  a  boy  what  they 
called  the  town,  but  all  he  said  in  reply  was,  "'T  ain't 


BETWEEN  THE  OLD  HUME  AND  THE  NEW.  139 

• 

a  teown"  —  and  something  about  a  "  Teownsliip," 
which  she  didn't  at  all  understand. 

Here  they  had  some  dinner,  and  Mr.  Bright  hired  a 
wagon  to  take  them  "  'cross  country  "  to  Scrapplehead, 
which  was  the  village  nearest  to  "  Causey  Island,"  as 
Eyebright  now  learned  that  their  future  home  was 
called.  "Cosy,"  papa  pronounced  it.  The  name 
pleased  her  greatly,  and  she  said  to  herself,  for  perhaps 
the  five-hundredth  time,  "  I  know  it  is  going  to  be 
nice." 

It  was  twenty-two  miles  from  the  nameless  village 
to  Scrapplehead,  but  it  took  all  the  afternoon  to  make 
the  journey,  for  the  roads  were  rough  and  hilly,  and  fast 
going  was  impossible.  Eyebright  did  not  care  how 
slowly  they  went.  Every  step  of  the  way  was  inter- 
esting to  her,  full  of  fresh  sights  and  sounds  and  smells. 
She  had  never  seen  such  woods  as  those  which  they 
passed  through.  They  looked  as  if  they  might  have 
been  planted  about  the  time  of  the  Deluge,  so  dense 
and  massive  were  their  growths.  Many  of  the  trees 
were  old  and  of  immense  size.  Some  very  large  ones 
had  fallen,  and  their  trunks  were  thickly  crusted  with 
fungi  and  long  hair-like  tresses  of  gray  moss.  Here 
and  there  were  cushions  of  green  moss,  so  rich  and 


140  EYEBRIGHT. 

luxuriant  as  to  be  the  softest  sitting-places  imaginable. 
Eyebright  longed  to  get  out  and  roll  on  them ;  the 
moss  seemed  at  least  a  yard  deep.  Once  they  passed 
an  oddly  shaped  broad  track  by  the  road-side,  which 
the  driver  told  them  was  the  foot-mark  of  a  bear. 
This  w^as  exciting.  And  a  little  farther  on,  at  the 
fording  of  a  shallow  brook,  he  showed  them  where  a 
deer  had  stopped  to  drink  the  night  before,  and  left 
the  impression  of  his  slender  hoofs  in  the  wet 
clay. 

It  was  as  interesting  as  a  story  to  be  there,  so  near 
the  haunts  of  these  wild  creatures.  Then,  leaving  the 
woods,  they  would  come  to  wide  vistas  of  country, 
with  pine-clad  hills  and  slopes  and  beautiful  gleaming 
lakes.  And  twice  from  the  top  of  an  ascent  they 
caught  the  outlines  of  a  bold  mountain-range.  A  de- 
licious air  blew  down  from  these  mountains,  cool, 
crystal  clear,  and  spiced  with  the  balsamic  smell  of 
hemlocks  and  firs  and  a  hundred  lovely  wood-odors 
beside. 

"  Oh,  isn't  Maine  beautiful ! ''  cried  Eyebright,  in  a 
rapture.  She  felt  a  sort  of  resentment  against 
Wealthy  for  having  called  it  a  "  God-forsaken"  placa 
"But  Wealthy  didn't  know:   she  never  was  here,** 


BETWEEN  THE  OLD  HOME  AND  THE  NEW.  141 

was  her  final  conclusion.  "  If  she  ever  had  been  here, 
she  couldn't  have  been  so  silly." 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  much  of  Scrapplehead  when 
at  last  they  got  there.  It  was  a  small  place,  nestled 
in  an  angle  of  the  hills.  The  misty  gray  ocean  la}' 
beyond.  Its  voice  came  to  their  ears  as  they  de- 
scended the  last  steep  pitch,  a  hushed  low  voice  with 
a  droning  tone,  as  though  it  were  sleepy -time  with 
the  great  sea.  There  was  no  tavern  in  the  village, 
and  they  applied  at  several  houses  before  finding  any 
one  willing  to  accommodate  them.  By  this  time, 
Eyebright  was  very  tired,  and  could  hardly  keep  from 
crying  as  they  drove  away  from  the  third  place. 

"  What  shall  we  do  if  nobody  will  take  us  in  ? " 
she  asked  papa  dolefully.  "  Shall  we  have  to  sit  in 
the  wagon  all  night  ? " 

"  Guess  't  won't  come  to  that,"  said  the  cheery 
driver.  ''  Downs  11  take  you.  I  '11  bet  a  cookie  he 
will."  When  he  came  to  "  Downs's,"  he  jumped  out 
and  ran  in.  "  They  're  real  clever  folks,"  he  told  Mrs. 
Downs ;  "  and  the  little  gal  is  so  tired,  it 's  a  pity  to 
see." 

So  Mrs.  Downs  consented  to  lodge  them ;  and  their 
troubles  were  over  for  that  day.     Half  blind  with 


112  EYEBRIGHT. 

sleep  and  fatigue,  Eyebright  ate  her  bread  and  milk, 
fried  eggs,  and  doughnuts,  fell  asleep  while  she  un- 
dressed, gave  her  head  a  knock  against  the  bedpost, 
laughed,  hurried  into  bed,  and  in  three  minutes  was 
lost  in  dreamless  slumber.  The  wind  blew  softly  up 
the  bay,  the  waves  sang  their  droning  lullaby,  a  half- 
grown  moon  came  out,  twinkled,  and  flashed  in  the 
flashing  water,  and  sent  one  long  beam  in  to  peep  at 
the  little  sleeper  in  bed.  The  new  life  was  begin, 
and  begun  pleasantly. 


CAUSEY   ISLAND.  143 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


CAUSEY  ISLAND. 


HEN"  Eyebright  awoke  next  momingj 
she  ran  straight  to  the  window,  with 
the  hope  that  she  might  see  Causey 
Island.  But  the  window  did  not  look  toward  the 
sea.  Only  a  barn,  a  bit  of  winding  road,  and  a 
green  hill  with  a  rocky  top,  were  to  be  seen ;  and 
she  dropped  the  paper  shade  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
appointment. 

Dressing  herself  as  fast  as  she  could,  she  ran  down- 
stairs. Mrs.  Downs,  who  was  frying  fish  in  the 
kitchen,  pointed  with  a  spoon  in  answer  to  her  ques- 
tion, and  said,  — 

"  It 's  up  that  way  the  island  is,  but  'taint  much  to 
look  at.     It 's  too  fur  for  you  to  see  the  house." 

Eyebright  didn't  particularly  care  about  seeing  the 
house.  She  was  satisfied  with  seeing  the  island.  There 


144  EYEBRIGHT. 

it  lay,  long  and  green,  raised  high  out  of  the  blue  sea 
like  a  wall,  with  the  water  washing  its  stony  shore. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  good  many  trees  and  bushes 
on  top,  and  altogether  she  thought  it  a  beautiful 
place,  and  one  where  a  little  girl  might  be  happy 
to  live. 

"You  ain't  the  folks  that's  coming  to  live  up  to 
the  island,  be  you  ? "  said  Mrs.  Downs.  "  Do  tell  if 
you  are  ?  We  heard  there  was  some  one.  There 
hain't  been  nobody  there  for  quite  a  spell  back,  not 
since  the  Lotts  went  away  last  year.  Job  Lott,  he 
farmed  it  for  a  while  ;  but  Miss  Lett's  father,  he  was 
took  sick  over  to  Machias,  and  they  moved  up  to  look 
after  him,  and  nobody 's  been  there  since,  unless  the 
boys  for  blueberries.  I  guess  your  Pa  '11  find  plenty 
to  do  to  get  things  straightened  out,  and  so  will  the 
rest  of  you." 

"  There  isn't  any  '  rest '  but  me." 
"  Do  tell  now.     Hain't  you  any  Ma  ? " 
"No,"  said  Eyebright,  sadly.     "Mother  died  last 
November." 

•^  You  poor  little  thing ! "  cried  kind  Mrs.  Downs  ; 
'  and  hain't  you  got  no  brothers  and  sisters  either  ? " 
**No;  not  any  at  alL" 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  145 

"  Why,  you  '11  be  lonesome,  I  'm  afraid,  up  to  the 
island.  You  never  lived  in  such  a  sort  of  a  place 
before,  did  you  ? " 

"Oh,  no;  we  always  lived  in  Tunxet.  But  I 
don't  believe  I  shall  be  lonesome.  It  looks  leal 
pretty  from  here.  Why  is  it  called  Cosy  Island, 
Mrs.  Downs?" 

"WeU,  I'm  sure  I  dont  know.  Folks  always 
called  it  that.  I  never  thought  to  ask  nobody. 
Perhaps  he'll  know  when  he  comes  in." 

"  He  "  was  Mr.  Downs ;  but  he  knew  no  more  than 
his  wife  about  the  name  of  the  island.  Mr.  Bright, 
however,  was  better  informed.  He  told  them  that 
the  name,  in  the  first  place,  was  "  Causeway,"  from 
the  natural  path,  uncovered  at  each  low  tide,  which 
connected  it  with  the  shore,  and  that  this  had  grad- 
ually been  changed  to  "  Causey,"  because  it  was  easier 
to  pronounce.  Eyebright  was  rather  disappointed  at 
this  explanation. 

"  I  thought  it  was  '  Cosy,' "  she  said,  "  because  the 
island  was  cosey." 

Mr.  Downs  gave  a  great  laugh  at  this,  but  papa 
patted  her  head  kindly,  and  said, — 

"  We  '11  see  if  we  can't  make  it  so,  Eyebright." 


146  EYEBRIGHT. 

The  tide  would  not  serve  for  crossing  the  causeway 
till  the  afternoon,  but  Mr.  Downs  offered  to  put  them 
over  in  his  boat  without  waiting  for  that.  It  was 
arranged  that  they  should  come  back  for  the  night, 
and  Mrs.  Downs  packed  some  bread  and  cheese  and 
doughnuts  in  a  basket  to  serve  them  as  dinner. 
Eyebright  took  the  basket  on  her  arm,  and  ran  down 
to  the  shore  in  high  spirits.  It  was  a  lovely  day. 
The  sea  was  as  blue  as  the  sky,  and,  as  the  boat 
pushed  off,  little  ripples  from  the  incoming  tide 
struck  the  pebbly  beach,  with  swift  flashes  of  white, 
like  gleaming  teeth,  and  a  gay  little  splash,  so  like  a 
laugh  that  Eyebright  laughed  too,  and  showed  her 
teeth. 

"  What  are  you  smiling  at  ? "  asked  her  father. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone  of  dreamy 
enjoyment.     "  I  like  it  here,  papa." 

Near  as  the  island  looked,  it  took  quite  a  long  time 
to  reach  it,  though  Mr.  Downs  pulled  strongly  and 
steadily.  It  was  very  interesting,  as  each  stroke  took 
them  nearer  and  nearer,  and  showed  more  and  more 
distinctly  what  their  future  home  was  like.  The  trees, 
which  at  first  had  seemed  a  solid  green  mass,  became 
distinct  shapes  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and  sumachs.     A 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  147 

little  farther,  and  openings  appeared  between  them, 
through  which  open  spaces  on  top  could  be  seen, 
bushes,  a  field,  and  yes,  actually  !  a  little  brown  patch, 
which  was  a  house.  There  it  was,  and  Eyebright 
held  Genevieve  up  that  she  might  see  it,  too. 

"That's  our  house,  my  child,"  she  whispered. 
"  Aren't  you  glad  ?     But  my !  don't  it  look  small  ] " 

It  was  small,  smaller  even  than  it  looked,  as  they 
found,  when,  after  saying  good-by  to  Mr.  Downs, 
and  gettidg  directions  for  crossing  the  "  Causey,"  they 
climbed  the  steep  path  which  led  to  the  top,  and 
came  out  close  to  the  house.  Mr.  Bright  gave  a 
low  whistle  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  Eyebright  opened 
her  eyes  wide. 

"  It 's  a  comfort  that  we  're  not  a  large  family,  isn't 
it  ? "  she  said,  quaintly.  "  I  'm  almost  glad  now  that 
'W^'ealthy  didn't  come,  papa.  Wouldn't  she  say  it  was 
little  ?  Littler  than  Miss  Fitch's  schoolhouse,  I  do 
believe." 

The  front  door  was  fastened  only  by  a  large  cob- 
web, left  by  some  industrious  spider  of  last  year,  so 
it  was  easy  to  make  their  way  in.  There  was  no 
entrance-hall.  The  door  opened  directly  into  a  square 
kitchen,  from  which  opened  two  smaller  rooms.     One 


148  EYEBRIGHT. 

had  shelves  round  it,  and  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of 
pantry  or  milk-room.  As  they  went  into  the  other, 
a  trickling  sound  met  their  ears,  and  they  saw  a  slen- 
der stream  of  clear  spring  water  running  into  a  stone 
sink.  The  sink  never  seemed  to  get  any  fuller,  but 
the  water  ran  on  and  on,  and  there  was  no  w^ay  to 
stop  it,  as  Eyebright  found  after  a  little  examination. 

"  Isn't  that  splendid  ? "  she  cried.  "  It  just  runs 
all  the  time,  and  we  shan't  have  to  pump  or  any  thing. 
I  do  like  that  so  much  ! "  Then,  as  if  the  sound  made 
her  thirsty,  she  held  her  head  under  the  spout,  and 
took  a  good  long  drink. 

"  Do  taste  it.  It 's  the  best  water  that  ever  was," 
she  declared. 

This  spring-water,  always  at  hand,  was  the  only 
luxury  which  the  little  house  afforded.  All  the  rest 
was  bare  and  plain  as  could  be.  Upstairs  were  two 
small  chambers,  but  they  were  more  like  chicken- 
coops  than  bedrooms;  for  the  walls,  made  of  laths 
not  yet  plastered,  were  full  of  cracks  and  peep-holes, 
and  the  staircase  which  led  to  them  resembled  a  lad- 
der more  than  was  desirable.  There  was  plenty  of 
sunshine  everywhere,  for  there  were  no  blinds,  and 
the  sweet  yellow  light  made  a  cheerfulness  in  the 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  I4fi 

place,  forlorn  as  it  was.  Eyebright  did  not  think  it 
forlorn.  She  enjoyed  it  very  much  as  though  it  had 
been  a  new  doU's-house,  and  danced  about  gleefully, 
planning  where  this  should  go,  and  that ;  how  papa's 
desk  should  have  a  corner  by  one  window,  and  her 
little  chair  by  the  other,  and  the  big  mahogany  table, 
which  Wealthy  had  persuaded  them  to  bring,  by  the 
wall.  She  showed  a  good  deal  of  cleverness  and  sense 
in  their  arrangement,  and  papa  was  well  content  that 
things  should  be  as  she  liked. 

"We  must  have  the  upstairs  rooms  plastered,  I 
suppose,"  he  said.  "  That  '11  require  some  time,  I  'm 
afraid.  Plaster  takes  so  long  to  dry.  We  must  arrange 
to  wait  at  Mr.  Downs's  for  a  week  or  two,  Eyebright." 

He  sighed  as  he  spoke,  and  sat  down  on  the  door- 
step, his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  chin  in  his  hands, 
looking  tired  and  discouraged. 

"  Oh,  must  we  ? "  cried  Eyebright,  her  face  falling. 
"  That  won't  be  nice  a  bit.  Papa  !  I  've  got  an  idea. 
Don't  plaster  the  walls.  Let  me  fix  them.  I  '11  make 
them  real  nice,  just  as  nice  as  can  be,  if  you  will,  and 
then  we  shan't  have  to  wait  at  all." 

"Why,  what  can  you  do  with  them?  How  do 
you  mean?"  demanded  her  father. 


150  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  Oh,  papa,  it 's  a  secret.  I  'd  rather  not  tell  you. 
I  'd  rather  have  it  a  surprise,  —  mayn't  IV* 

Papa  demurred,  but  Eyebright  coaxed  and  urged, 
and  at  last  he  said,  — 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  about  it  one  way  or  the  other. 
Try  your  idea  if  you  like,  Eyebright.  It  will  amuse 
you  perhaps,  and  any  thing  will  do  for  the  summer. 
We  can  plaster  in  the  fall." 

"I  don't  believe  you'll  want  to,"  remarked  Eye- 
bright,  shaking  her  head  mysteriously.  "  My  way  is 
much  prettier  than  plaster.  Just  you  wait  and  see, 
papa.     I  'm  sure  you  '11  like  it." 

But  papa  seemed  down-hearted,  and  it  was  not 
easy  to  make  him  smile.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  look 
of  the  farm  was  rather  discouraging.  He  kicked  the 
earth  over  with  his  foot,  and  said  the  soil  was  poor 
and  every  thing  seemed  run  down.  But  Eyebright 
would  not  give  in  to  this  view  at  all.  It  was  a 
lovely  place,  she  insisted,  and  she  ran  about  dis- 
covering new  beauties  and  advantages  every  moment. 
'N'ow  it  was  a  thicket  of  wild  roses  just  budding 
into  leaf.  Next  a  patch  of  winter-green,  with  white 
starry  blossoms  and  red  berries.  Then,  peeping  over 
the  bank,  she  called  papa's  attention  to  a  strip  of 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  151 

pebbly  beach  on  the  side  of  the  island  next  the 
sea. 

"Here's  where  we  can  take  baths,"  she  said. 
'*  Why,  I  declare,  here  *s  a  path  down  to  it.  I  guess 
the  people  who  used  to  live  here  made  it ;  don't  you  ? 
Oh,  do  come  and  see  the  beach,  papa  !  " 

It  was  a  rough  little  path  which  led  to  the  beach, 
and  overgrown  with  weeds  ;  but  they  made  their  way 
down  without  much  trouble,  and  Eyebright  trampled 
the  pebbles  under  foot  with  great  satisfaction. 

"Isn't  it  splendid!"  she  cried.  "See  that  great 
stone  close  to  the  bank,  papa.  We  can  go  behind 
there  to  dress  and  undress.  It's  a  real  nice  place. 
1  'm  going  to  call  it  the  '  The  Dressing-room.'  How 
wide  the  sea  is  on  this  side  !  And  what  is  that  long 
point  of  land,  papa  ? " 

For  the  island  lay  within  a  broad  curving  bay. 
One  end  of  the  curve  projected  only  a  little  way,  but 
toward  the  north  a  long,  cape-like  tongue  of  land, 
with  a  bold,  hilly  outline,  ran  out  to  sea,  and  made 
a  striking  feature  in  the  landscape. 

"  Those  are  the  Guinness  Hills,"  said  Mr.  Bright. 
"  Canada  begins  just  the  other  side  of  them.  Do  you 
see  tliose  specks  of  white  on  the  point?     That  ia 


162  EYEBRIGHT. 

Malaclii,  and  in  the  summer  there  is  a  steamboat  once 
a  week  from  there  to  Portland.  We  can  see  it  pasa 
in  clear  weather,  Mr.  Downs  says." 

"  That  will  be  nice,"  said  Eyebright,  comfortably. 
**  I  'm  glad  we  Ve  got  a  beach  of  our  own,  papa ;  aren't 
you  ?     'Now  I  want  to  look  about  some  more." 

To  the  left  of  the  house  the  ground  rose  in  a  low 
knoll,  whose  top  was  covered  with  sassafras  bushes. 
This  was  the  source  of  the  spring  whose  water  ran 
into  the  back  kitchen.  They  came  upon  it  presently, 
and  could  trace  the  line  of  spouts,  each  made  of  a 
small  tree-trunk,  halved  and  hollowed  out,  which  led 
it  from  the  hill  to  the  house.  Following  these  along, 
Eyebright  made  the  discovery  of  a  cubby,  —  a  ver- 
itable cubby,  —  left  by  some  child  in  a  choice  and 
hidden  corner  formed  by  three  overlapping  moose- 
wood  bushes.  The  furniture,  except  for  a  table  made 
of  three  shingles,  consisted  entirely  of  corn-cobs ;  but 
it  was  a  desirable  cubby  for  all  that,  and  would  be  a 
pleasant  out-door  parlor  for  Genevieve  on  hot  days, 
Eyebright  thought.  It  made  the  island  seem  much 
more  home-like  to  know  that  other  children  had 
lived  there  and  played  under  the  trees ;  and,  cheered 
by  this  idea,  she  became  so  merry,  that  gradually 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  153 

papa  brightened,  too,  and  began  to  make  plans  for 
his  farming  operations  with  more  heart  than  he  had 
hitherto  shown,  deciding  where  to  plant  corn  and 
where  potatoes,  and  where  their  little  vegetable  gar- 
den would  better  be. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  no  use  to  try  for  fruit,'*  he  said ; 
*'the  climate  is  too  cold." 

"Not  too  cold  for  blueberries,"  Eyebright  re- 
plied. "  There  are  lots  of  them,  Mrs.  Downs  says, 
and  lots  of  cranberries,  and  Mr.  Downs's  brother  has 
got  an  apple-tree." 

"  An  apple-tree !  Dear !  dear !  Think  of  getting 
to  a  place  where  people  have  only  one  apple-tree," 
muttered  Mr.  Bright. 

By  the  time  that  they  had  made  the  circuit  of  the 
island  it  was  twelve  o'clock.  This  was  dinner-time, 
Eyebright  declared,  and  she  produced  the  lunch-bas- 
ket. Mrs.  Downs's  bread  had  yellow  specks  of  saler- 
atus  in  it,  and  was  very  different  from  Wealthy'a 
delicious  loaves ;  but  they  were  too  hungry  to  criti- 
cise, though  Eyebright  shook  her  head  over  it,  and 
thought  with  satisfaction  of  the  big  parcel  of  yeast- 
powder  which  she  and  Wealthy  had  packed  up.  She 
knew  exactly  where  it  was,  in  the  corner  of  a  certain 
7* 


154  EYEBEIGHT. 

red  box,  and  that  reminded  her  to  ask  papa  when 
the  boxes  would  be  likely  to  come. 

"They  are  due  at  this  moment,"  he  replied,  "I 
suppose  we  may  look  for  them  at  any  time  now.  Mr. 
Downs  says  there  have  been  head  winds  for  this  week 
past,  and  I  presume  that  has  kept  the  sloop  back 
Perhaps  she  may  come  to-day." 

"I  do  hope  she  will.  I  want  dreadfully  to  begin 
and  fix  the  house.  Doesn't  it  seem  a  great  while 
since  we  left  Tunxet,  papa  ?  I  can't  believe  that  it  is 
only  three  days,  so  much  has  happened." 

The  tide  had  been  going  out  since  eleven  o'clock, 
and  by  four,  when  they  were  ready  to  cross,  the  cause- 
way was  uncovered.  It  was  a  wide  pathway  of  sand, 
not  flat  and  even  all  the  way,  but  high  in  some  places 
and  low  in  others,  with  shells  and  pebbles  shining 
here  and  there  on  its  surface.  It  was  like  a  beach, 
except  for  being  narrower,  and  having  water  on  both 
sides  of  it,  instead  of  on  only  one.  The  sand  was 
stiU  wet  enough  to  make  good  hard  footing,  and  Eye- 
bright  skipped  gayly  over  it,  declaring  that  she  felt 
just  like  the  children  of  Israel  in  the  middle  of  the 
Red  Sea. 

"  It  is  so  strange  to  think  that,  just  a  little  while 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  156 

ago,  this  -WaS  all  water,"  she  said;  "and  just  a  little 
while  longer,  and  it  will  be  all  water  again.  It  is  the 
most  interesting  thing  we've  got  on  our  island,  I 
think,  papa;  but  it  makes  me  feel  a  little  afraid, 
too." 

"There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  if  you're  only 
careful  not  to  come  here  except  when  the  tide  is 
going  out,"  said  her  father.  "Now  remember  this, 
Eyebright,  —  you  must  never  try  to  cross  when  the 
tide  is  rising,  even  if  the  sand  looks  perfectly  dry 
and  the  water  seems  a  good  way  off.  The  sea  comes 
in  very  fast  up  here  on  these  northern  shores,  and  if 
you  made  a  misstep  and  sprained  your  ankle,  or  had 
an  accident  of  any  kind,  you  might  be  drowned 
before  any  one  could  come  to  your  help.  Eemember, 
my  child." 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  will,"  said  Eyebright,  looking  rather 
nervously  at  the  water.  It  was  slipping  farther  away 
every  moment,  and  seemed  the  most  harmless  thing 
in  the  world ;  but  papa's  words  made  her  feel  as  if 
it  were  a  dangerous  and  deceitful  creature  which  could 
not  be  trusted. 

It  was  over  a  mile  from  the  causeway  to  the  village, 
though  at  first  sight  the  distance  looked  much  lees- 


156  EYEBRIGHT. 

Plodding  along  the  sandy  shore  was  slow  work,  so 
that  they  did  not  reach  the  village  till  nearly  six. 
A  smell  of  frying  met  them  as  they  entered  the  door. 
Mrs.  Downs,  wishing  to  do  them  honor,  was  making 
blueberry  flapjacks  for  tea.  Did  any  of  you  ever 
,  eat  blueberry  flapjacks  ?  I  imagine  not,  unless  you 
have  summered  on  the  coast  of  Maine.  They  are  a 
kind  of  greasy  pancake,  in  which  blueberries  are 
stirred  till  the  cakes  are  about  the  color  of  a  bruise. 
They  are  served  swimming  in  melted  butter  and  sugar, 
and  in  any  other  place  or  air  would  be  certain  indiges- 
tion, if  not  sudden  death,  to  any  person  partaking  of 
them.  But,  somehow,  in  that  place  and  that  air  they 
are  not  only  harmless  but  seem  quite  delicious  as 
well.  Eyebright  thought  so.  She  ate  a  great  many 
flapjacks,  thought  them  extremely  nice,  and  slept 
like  a  top  afterward,  with  never  a  bad  dream  to  mar 
her  rest. 

A  big  gray  sail  at  the  wharf  was  the  glad  sight 
that  met  their  eyes  when  they  came  down  next  morn- 
ing. The  sloop  had  come  in  during  the  night,  with 
all  Mr.  B right's  goods  on  board.  He  had  hoped  tliat 
it  might  be  possible  to  land  them  on  the  island,  but 
the  captain  said  it  was   out  of   the   question;    he 


CAUSEY   ISLAND.  167 

couldn^t  get  near  enough,  for  one  thing,  and  if  he 
could,  he  wouldn't;  for  how  were  heavy  things  like 
them  to  be  dumped  on  a  shelvin'  bank  like  that,  he  'd 
like  to  know  ?  So  the  goods  were  landed  on  the  dock 
at  Scrapplehead,  and  Mr.  Downs  undertook  to  find 
an  ox-team  to  draw  them  across  the  causeway  at  low 
tide. 

Getting  oxen  was  not  an  easy  matter  at  that  sea- 
son of  the  year,  but  Mr.  Downs,  who  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  his  lodgers,  bestirred  himself,  and  at  last  found 
some  one  willing  to  let  his  yoke  go  in  consideration 
of  a  dollar  and  a  quarter.  So,  at  exact  low  tide,  the 
great  cart,  piled  with  boxes  and  barrels,  creaked 
slowly  across  the  sandy  bar,  Mr.  Downs  driving,  and 
papa  walking  behind  with  Eyebright,  who  was  more 
than  ever  reminded  of  the  crossing  of  the  Eed  Sea. 
It  took  much  lugging  and  straining  and  "gee-ing 
and  "haw"-ing  to  get  the  load  up  the  steep  bank 
on  the  other  side;  but  all  arrived  safely  at  last  in 
front  of  the  house.  There  the  cart  was  unloaded  as 
fast  as  possible,  a  few  things  set  in-doors,  the  rest  left 
outside,  and,  getting  into  the  cart,  they  all  drove  back 
across  the  causeway.  It  was  harder  work  than  when 
they  came,  for  the  tide  was  rising,  and  the  sand  liad 


158  EYEBRIGHT. 

grown  soft  and  yielding.  One  great  swirling  wave 
ran  up  and  curled  around  the  oxen's  hoofs  just  as 
they  reached  firm  ground,  but,  though  Eyebright  gave 
a  little  scream,  and  Mr.  Downs  frowned  and  said,  "by 
gosh ! "  no  harm  was  done,  and  the  momentary  fright 
only  made  pleasanter  their  drive  to  Scrapplehead, 
which  they  reached  just  as  the  sun  sank  for  the 
night  into  a  great  soft-looking  bed  of  purple  and 
crimson  clouds. 

This  was  their  last  night  with  the  Downs  family. 
Early  next  morning  they  started  for  the  island  in  Mr. 
Downs's  boat,  taking  with  them  their  last  bundles 
and  bags,  and  Mrs.  Downs,  who  had  kindly  offered 
to  give  them  a  day's  help.  Very  helpful  it  proved, 
for  there  was  every  thing  to  do. 

Mr.  Bright,  like  all  men,  wanted  to  do  every  thing 
at  once,  and  Eyebright  was  too  inexperienced  to 
know  what  should  come  first  and  what  second;  sc 
Mrs.  Downs's  good  sense  and  advice  were  of  great 
value.  Under  her  directions  the  bedrooms  were 
swept  and  cleaned,  and  the  bedsteads  put  together, 
first  of  all,  for,  as  she  said,  "  You  Ve  got  to  sleep,  any- 
how, and  if  you  don't  do  it  comfortable  you  '11  be  sick, 
and  that  would  never  do."     Next,  while  Eyebright 


OACrSEY   ISLAND.  159 

swept  the  kitchen,  she  and  Mr.  Bright  got  the  stove 
into  place,  fixed  the  pipe,  and  lighted  a  fire,  after  which 
Mrs.  Downs  scoured  the  pantry  shelves,  and  unpacked 
china  and  tins. 

"There,"  she  said,  surveying  the  result  with  great 
satisfaction.  "  That  begins  to  look  folksy.  What  *s 
sewed  up  in  that  old  comforter?  A  rocking-cheer. 
Let 's  have  it  out ! " 

So  the  rocking-chair  was  unsewed,  and  papa's  desk 
and  the  big  table  were  unpacked;  and  as  each 
familiar  article  came  to  view,  Eyebright  felt  as  though 
an  old  friend  were  restored  to  her.  She  patted  the 
arm  of  her  own  little  chair,  and  put  the  plaided  cover 
from  the  old  sitting-room  over  the  table,  with  a  sense 
of  cheer  and  comfort.  She  and  papa  and  Mrs.  Downs 
dined  on  bread  and  dieese  in  the  intervals  of  work, 
and  by  five  o'clock  they  were  very  fairly  in  order, 
and  Mrs.  Downs  made  ready  to  go  back  to  her  own 
family.  Eyebright  walked  with  her  as  far  as  the 
causeway,  and  parted  with  a  hearty  kiss.  Mrs.  Downs 
seemed  like  a  second  Wealthy,  almost,  she  had  been 
so  kind  and  thoughtful  all  that  busy  day. 

Papa  was  sitting  in  the  rocking-chair,  by  the  stove, 
when  she  went  back.     She  stopped  to  kiss  him   as 


160  EYEBRIGHT. 

she  passed,  and  proceeded  to  set  the  table  and  j^et 
supper.  Mrs.  Downs  had  started  them  with  a  supply 
of  bread,  butter,  and  milk ;  but  the  tea  and  sugar 
came  out  of  one  of  the  Tunxet  boxes,  and  so  did  the 
tumbler  of  currant-jam,  opened  in  honor  of  the  occa- 
sion. Wealthy  had  made  it,  and  it  seemed  to  taste 
of  the  pleasant  old  times.  Eyebright  did  not  care  to 
think  much  about  Wealthy  just  then.  The  tide  was 
drawing  over  the  causeway,  cutting  them  off  from 
everybody  else  in  the  world.  She  felt  lonely  and  the 
least  bit  afraid,  in  spite  of  papa's  being  there;  and 
only  keeping  very  busy  till  bedtime  saved  her  from 
homesickness,  which  she  felt  would  be  a  bad  begin- 
ning, indeed,  for  that  first  evening  in  her  new  home. 
Next  morning  was  fair.  All  the  days  had  been 
good  so  far,  which  was  fortunate,  for  a  half-settled 
house  is  a  dismal  place  enough  in  rainy  weather. 
Eyebright  opened  her  eyes,  and  after  one  bewildered 
stare  began  to  laugh,  for  through  the  slats  of  her 
"coop,"  she  could  distinctly  see  papa,  half-dressed, 
and  brushing  his  hair  in  his,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
entry.  This  was  not  to  be  endured,  so  after  breakfast, 
while  he  went  to  the  village  for  some  provisions,  she 
set  to  work  with  great  energy  on  her  plan  for  reforip- 


CAUSEY   ISLAND.  161 

ing  the  bedroom  walls.  This  was  to  cover  them  with 
"  picture  papers."  There  was  an  abundance  of  mater- 
ial for  the  purpose  at  hand,  for  her  mother  had  taken 
Harper's  Bazar  and  Frank  Leslie's  Illustrated  for  sev- 
eral years ;  and  as  she  saved  all  the  back  numbers,  a 
large  pile  had  collected,  which  Wealthy  had  carefully 
packed.  These  Eyebright  sorted  over,  setting  aside 
all  the  pictures  of  cows,  and  statesmen,  and  steam- 
boats, and  railroad  trains  for  papa's  room,  and  keep- 
ing the  kittens,  and  dogs,  and  boys,  and  girls,  and 
babies  for  her  own.  She  fastened  the  papers  to  the 
laths  with  tacks,  and  the  ceilings  were  so  low  that 
she  was  able  to  do  all  but  the  very  top  row  herself. 
That  she  was  forced  to  leave  for  papa.  So  hard  did 
she  work  that  the  whole  of  his  room  was  done  before 
he  appeared,  climbing  the  path,  with  a  big  bundle 
under  one  arm,  a  basket  in  his  hand,  and  looking  very 
warm  and  tired. 

"  It 's  a  hard  pull  up  the  shore,"  he  said,  wiping  his 
forehead.  "  I  shall  have  to  get  a  boat  whether  I  can 
afford  it  or  not,  I  'm  afraid.  It  '11  be  worse  when  hot 
weather  comes,  and  there  '11  always  be  the  need  of 
going  over  to  the  village  for  something  or  other." 

"A  boat,"   cried  Eyebright,  clapping  her  handa 


162  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  Oh,  papa,  that  would  be  splendid.  I  can  learn  to 
row  it  my  own  self,  can't  I  ?  It  11  be  as  nice  as  a 
carriage  of  our  own,  —  nicer,  for  we  shan't  have  to 
catch  the  horse,  or  feed  him  either.  Now,  papa,  let 
me  carry  the  basket,  and  oh,  do  come  quick.  I  want 
to  show  you  how  beautifully  I  have  done  your  bed- 
room." 

Papa  liked  the  bedroom  very  much.  He  was  glad 
to  be  saved  the  expense  and  delay  of  plastering,  only 
he  said  he  was  afraid  he  should  always  be  late  to 
breakfast,  because  he  should  want  to  lie  in  bed  and 
study  his  picture-gallery,  which  joke  delighted  Eye- 
bright  highly. 

It  was  several  days  before  she  had  time  to  attend 
to  her  own  papering,  for  there  was  a  great  deal  else  to 
do,  —  boxes  to  unpack,  places  to  settle,  and  outside 
work  to  begin.  Mr.  Bright  hired  a  man  for  one  week 
to  plow  and  plant  and  split  wood.  After  that,  he 
thought  he  could  keep  things  in  running  order  by 
himself.  He  had  been  brought  up  on  a  farm,  but 
years  of  disuse  had  made  him  stiff  and  awkward  at 
such  labor,  and  he  found  the  work  harder  than  he  had 
expected.  Eyebright  was  glad  to  see  the  big  wood- 
pile grow.     It  had  a  cosey  look  to  her,  and  gradually 


CAUSEY  ISLAND.  163 

the  house  was  beginning  to  look  cosej'  too.  The  kit- 
chen, with  its  strip  of  carpet  and  easy-chairs  and  desk, 
made  quite  a  comfortable  sitting-room.  Eyebright 
kept  a  glass  of  wild  roses  or  buttercups  or  white  dai- 
sies always  on  the  table.  She  set  up  a  garden  of  her 
own,  too,  after  a  while,  and  raised  some  balsams  and 
"  Johnny -jump-ups  "  from  seeds  which  Mr.  Downs 
gave  her,  and  some  golden- brown  coreopsis.  As  for 
the  housekeeping,  it  fared  better  than  could  have  been 
expected  with  only  a  little  girl  of  thirteen  to  look  after 
things.  Once  a  week,  a  woman  came  from  the  village 
for  the  day  (and  half  a  dollar),  did  the  washing  and 
part  of  the  ironing,  roasted  a  joint  of  meat  if  there 
was  one  to  roast,  made  a  batch  of  pies,  perhaps,  or  a 
pan  of  gingerbread,  and  scoured  the  pots  and  pans 
and  the  kitchen  floor.  This  lightened  the  work  for 
the  next  seven  days,  and  left  Eyebright  only  vegeta- 
bles and  little  things  to  cook,  and  the  ordinary  clean- 
ing, bed-making,  and  dusting  to  do,  which  she 
managed  very  well  on  the  whole,  though  sometimes 
she  got  extremely  tired,  and  wished  for  Wealthy's 
strong  hands  to  help  her.  Milk  and  butter  came  from 
Mr.  Downs's  every  other  day,  and  papa  was  very  good 
and  considerate  about  his  food,  and  quite  contented 


164  EYEBRIGHT. 

with  a  dinner  of  potatoes  or  mush  if  nothing  bettei 
was  to  be  had,  so  the  little  housekeeper  did  not 
have  any  heavy  burden  on  her  mind  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned. 

The  boat  proved  a  great  comfort  ^vhen  it  came, 
which  was  not  till  more  than  a  month  after  their 
settlement  on  Causey  Island.  Eyebright  took  regular 
rowing  lessons  and  practised  diligently,  so  that  after 
a  few  weeks  she  became  really  expert,  and  papa  could 
trust  her  to  go  alone  as  far  as  the  village,  when  the 
weather  was  fair  and  the  sea  smooth.  These  rows  to 
and  fro  were  the  greatest  treats  and  refreshments  after 
house-work.  Sometimes  it  happened  that  her  errands 
kept  her  till  sunset,  and  she  floated  home  on  the  in- 
coming tide,  just  dipping  the  oars  gently  in  now  and 
then,  and  carried  along  by  the  current  and  a  "  singing" 
wind,  which  followed  close  behind  and  pushed  the 
boat  on  its  way.  These  were  Eyebright's  real  "  play  *' 
times.  She  kept  a  story  going  about  a  princess  and 
a  boat,  and  some  water-fairies  and  a  water-prince,  and 
whenever  the  chance  came  for  a  solitary  row,  she 
"  acted  "  it  by  herself  in  the  old  pleasant  way,  always 
wishing  that  Bessie  or  some  other  girl  could  be  along 
to  play  it  with  her.     Another  girl,  —  some  one  to 


CAUSEY  ISLAND. 


135 


share  work  and  fun,  waking  and  sleeping,  with  her,  -  - 
that  was  all  which  was  wanted,  she  thought,  to  make 
Causey  Island  as  pleasant  as  Tunxet. 


166  EYEBRIGHT. 


CHAPTEE    IX. 

SHUT  UP  IN   THE   OVEN. 

|0U  will  probably  think  that  it  was  a  dish 
of  pork-and-beans,  or  an  Indian  pudding 
of  the  good,  old-fashioned  kind,  which 
was  shut  up  in  the  Oven.  Not  at  all.  You  are  quite 
mistaken.  The  thing  shut  up  in  the  Oven  was  Eye- 
bright  herseK!  And  the  Oven  was  quite  different 
from  any  thing  you  are  thinking  of,  —  cold,  not  hot ; 
wet,  not  dry ;  with  a  door  made  of  green  sea- water 
instead  of  black  iron.  This  sounds  like  a  conundrum ; 
and,  as  that  is  hardly  fair,  I  will  proceed  to  unriddle 
it  at  once  and  tell  you  all  about  it. 

The  Oven  was  a  sort  of  cave  or  grotto  in  the  cliffs, 
four  miles  from  Scrapplehead,  but  rather  less  than 
three  from  the  causeway.  Its  real  name  was  "  The 
Devil's  Oven."  Country  people,  and  Maine  country 
people  above  all  others,  are  very  fond  of  calling  aU 


SHUT    UP   IN   THE   OVEN.  167 

sorts  of  strange  and  striking  places  after  the  devil 
If  Eyebright  had  ever  heard  the  whole  name,  perhaps 
she  might  not  have  ventured  to  go  there  alone  as  she 
did,  in  which  case  I  should  have  no  adventure  to  write 
about.  But  people  usually  spoke  of  it  for  shortness' 
sake  as  the  "  Oven,"  and  she  had  no  idea  that  Satan 
had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  place,  nor,  for  that 
matter,  have  I. 

It  was  from  Mrs.  Downs  that  she  first  heard  about 
the  Oven.  Mrs.  Downs  had  been  there  once,  years 
before.  It  was  a  "natteral  curosity,*'  she  said,  with 
all  sorts  of  strange  sea-creatures  growing  in  pools,  and 
the  rocks  were  red  and  quite  beautiful  It  wasn't  a 
dangerous  place,  either,  and  here  Mr.  Downs  confirmed 
her.  You  couldn't  get  in  after  half-tide,  but  anybody 
could  stay  in  for  a  week  in  ordinary  weather,  and  not 
be  drowned.  There  were  plenty  of  places  a-top  of 
the  cave,  where  you  could  sit  and  keep  dry  even  at 
high  water,  though  it  would  be  "  sort  of  poky,"  too. 
Eyebright's  imagination  was  fired  by  this  description, 
and  she  besought  papa  to  take  her  there  at  once.  He 
promised  that  he  would  "some  day,"  but  the  day 
gi^.emed  long  in  coming,  as  holidays  always  do  to  busy 
pt^ople  ;  and  June  passed,  and  July,  and  still  the  Oven 


168  EYEBRIGHT. 

was  un  visited,  though  Eyebright  did  not  forget  hei 
wish  to  go. 

August  came  at  last,  —  the  delicious  north-of-Maine 
August,  with  hot,  brilliant  noons,  and  cool,  balmy 
nights,  so  different  from  the  murky,  steamy  August 
of  everywhere  else,  —  and  was  half  over,  when  one 
afternoon  papa  came  in  with  a  piece  of  news. 

"  What  should  you  say,  Eyebright,  if  I  were  to  go 
off  for  the  whole  day  to-morrow  ? "  he  asked. 

"Why,  papa  Bright,  what  do  you  mean?  You 
can't !     There  isn't  anywhere  to  go  to." 

"  There's  Malachi." 

"  Oh,  papa,  not  in  our  little  boat ! " 

"No,  in  a  schooner  belonging  to  Mr.  Downs's 
brother.  It  has  just  put  in  with  a  load  of  lumber, 
and  the  captain  has  oflfered  me  a  passage  if  I  like  to 
go.  He  expects  to  get  back  to-morrow  evening  about 
nine  o'clock.  Should  you  be  lonesome,  do  yoii  think, 
Eyebright,  if  I  went?" 

"  Not  a  bit,"  cried  Eyebright,  delighted  at  the  idea 
of  papa's  having  a  sail.  "  I  '11  do  something  or  other 
that  is  pleasant.  Perhaps  I  '11  go  and  stay  all  day 
with  Mrs.  Downs.  Anyhow,  I  '11  not  be  lonely.  I  'm 
glad  the  captain  asked  you  to  go,  papa.  It  '11  be  nice, 
I  think." 


SHUT   UP   IN   THE   OVEN.  169 

But  next  morning,  when  she  had  given  papa  his 
early  breakfast,  watched  him  across  the  causeway, 
and  seen  the  sails  of  the  schooner  diminish  into  two 
white  specks  in  the  distance,  she  was  not  sure  that 
it  was  nice.  She  sang  at  her  dish-washing  and 
clattered  her  cups  and  spoons,  to  make  as  mucli 
noise  as  possible;  but  for  all  she  could  do,  the 
house  felt  silent  and  empty,  and  she  missed  papa 
very  much.  Her  plan  had  been  to  go  to  the 
village  as  soon  as  her  work  was  done,  and  make 
Mrs.  Downs  a  visit,  but  later  another  idea  popped 
into  her  mind.  She  would  go  to  the  Oven  in- 
stead. 

"  I  know  about  where  it  is,"  she  thought.  "  If  1 
keep  close  to  the  shore  I  can't  miss  it,  anyway.  Mr. 
Downs  said  it  wasn't  more  than  two  miles  and  three- 
quarters  from  the  causeway.  Two  miles  and  three- 
quarters  isn't  a  very  long  walk.  It  won't  be  half-tide 
till  after  ten.  I  can  get  there  by  a  little  after  nine  if 
I  start  at  once.  That  '11  give  me  an  hour  to  see  the 
cave,  and  when  I  come  back  I  '11  go  down  to  the  vil- 
lage and  stay  to  dinner  with  Mrs.  Downs.  I  '11  take 
some  bread  and  butter,  though,  because  one  does  get 
80  hungr}  up  here  if  you  take  the  least  little  walk 
8 


170  EYEBRIGHT. 

What  a  good  idea  it  is  to  do  this !  I  am  glad  ]>apa 
went  to  Malachi,  after  all." 

Her  preparations  were  soon  made,  and  in  ten  min- 
utes she  was  speeding  across  the  causeway,  which 
was  safe  walking  still,  though  the  tide  had  turned,  — 
her  pocket  full  of  bread  and  butter,  and  Genevieve  in 
lier  arms.  She  had  hesitated  whether  or  not  to  take 
Genevieve,  but  it  seemed  too  sad  to  leave  her  all  alone 
on  the  island,  so  it  ended  in  her  going  too,  in  her  best 
bonnet  and  a  little  blanket  shawl.  The  morning  was 
most  beautiful,  dewy  and  fresh,  and  the  path  along 
the  shore  was  scented  with  freshly  cut  hay  from 
inland  fields,  and  with  spicy  bayberry  and  sweet 
fern.  A  belated  wild  rose  shone  here  and  there  in 
the  hedges,  pale  and  pink.  Tangles  of  curly,  green- 
brown  fringe  lay  over  the  clustering  Virgin's  Bower. 
The  blue  lapping  waves,  as  they  rose  and  fell,  were 
full  of  sea-weeds  of  a  lovely  red-brown  tint,  and  a 
froKcsome  wind  played  over  the  surface  of  the  sea,  and 
seemed  to  be  whispering  something  funny  to  it,  for 
the  water  trembled  in  the  sun  and  dimpled  as  if 
with  sudden  laughter. 

The  way,  as  a  general  thing,  lay  close  by  the  shore, 
winding  over  the  tops  of  low  cliffs  covered  with  dry 


SHUT   UP   IN   THE   OVEN.  171 

yeliow  grasses.  Now  and  then  it  dipped  down  to 
strips  of  shingle  beach,  or  skirted  little  coves  with 
boundaries  of  bushes  and  brambles  edging  the  sand. 
Miles  are  not  easy  to  reckon  when  people  are  follow- 
ing the  ins  and  outs  of  an  irregular  coast.  Half  a 
dozen  times  Eyebright  clambered  to  the  water's  edge 
and  peeped  round  the  shoulder  of  a  great  rock,  think- 
ing that  she  must  have  got  to  the  cave  at  last.  Yet 
nothing  met  her  eyes  but  more  rocks,  and  surf,  and 
fissures  brown  with  rust  and  barnacles.  At  last,  she 
came  on  a  group  of  children,  playing  in  the  sand, 
and  stopped  to  ask  the  way  of  them. 

There  were  two  thin,  brown  little  girls  in  pink- 
and-gray  gingham  frocks,  and  pink-and-gray  striped 
stockings  appearing  over  the  tops  of  high,  laced  boots. 
They  were  exactly  the  same  size,  and  made  Eye 
bright  think  of  grasshoppers,  they  were  so  wiry  and 
active,  and  sprang  about  so  nimbly.  Then  there 
were  three  rosy,  hearty-looking  country  children,  and 
a  pair  of  little  boys,  with  sharp,  delicately  cut  faces, 
who  seemed  to  be  brothers,  for  they  looked  like  each 
other  and  quite  unlike  the  rest.  All  seven  were 
digging  holes  in  the  sand  with  sticks  and  shovels, 
and  were  as  much  absorbed  in  their  work  as  a  party 


172  EYEBRIGHT. 

of  diligent  beavers.  When  Eyebright  appeared,  with 
Genevieve  in  her  arms,  they  stopped  digging  and 
looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  Do  you  know  how  far  the  Oven  is  from  here  ?  " 
asked  Eyebright. 

"No,"  and  "What's  the  Oven?"  answered  the 
children,  and  one  of  the  gray-and-pink  little  girls 
added :  "  My,  what  a  big  doll ! "  Eyebright  scarcely 
heeded  these  answers,  she  was  so  delighted  to  -  see 
some  children  after  her  long  fast  from  childhood. 

"  What  are  you  making  ? "  she  asked. 

"  A  fort,"  replied  one  of  the  boys. 

"  Now,  Eweddy,  you  said  you  'd  call  it  a  castle," 
put  in  one  of  the  girls. 

"  Well,  castles  are  just  the  same  things  as  forts. 
My  mother  said  so." 

"  Is  that  your  mother  sitting  there  ? "  asked  Eye- 
bright  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  woman  and  a  baby 
under  a  tree  not  far  off. 

'*  Oh,  dear,  no  !  That 's  Mrs.  Waurigan.  She 's 
Jenny's  mother,  you  know,  and 'Mandy's  and  Peter 
Paul  Eubens's.  She's  not  our  mother  at  all.  My 
mother's  name  is  Mrs.  Brown,  and  my  papa  is  Dr. 
Azariah  P.  Brown.  We  live  in  New  York  city. 
Did  you  ever  see  New  York  city  ? " 


< 


:..Jf^''^r 


SHUT   UP  IN  THE  OVEK  173 

"  No,  never.     I  wish  I  had/'  said  Eyebright. 

"  It 's  a  real  nice  place,"  went  on  the  pink-and-gray 
midge.  "  You  'd  better  make  haste  and  come  and  see 
it  quick,  'cause  it's  de-te-rotting  every  day;  my  papa 
said  so.  Don't  you  think  Dr.  Azariah  P.  Brown  is  a 
boau-tiful  name  ?  I  do.  When  I  'm  mallied  and  have 
a  little  boy,  I  'm  going  to  name  him  Dr.  Azariah  P. 
Brown,  because  it's  the  beautifulest  name  in  the 
world." 

"  She 's  'gaged  already,"  said  the  other  little  sister. 
"  She  's  'gaged  to  Willy  Prentiss.  And  she 's  got  a 
'gagement  wing;  only,  she  turns  the  stone  round 
inside,  so  's  to  make  people  b'lieve  it 's  a  plain  gold 
wing  and  she's  mallied  already.  Isn't  that  cheat- 
ing ?     It  *s  just  as  bad  as  telling  a  weal  story." 

"No,  it  isn't  either!"  cried  the  other,  twirling  a 
small  gilt  ring  round  on  a  brown  finger,  and  reveal- 
ing a  gem  made,  apparently,  of  second-rate  sealing- 
wax,  and  about  the  color  of  a  lobster's  claw.  "  No,  it 
isn't  cheating,  not  one  bit;  'cause  sometimes  the 
wing  gets  turned  round  all  by  itself,  and  then  people 
can  see  that  it  isn't  plain  gold.  And  Nelly 's  'gaged, 
too,  just  as  much  as  I  am,  only  she  hasn't  got  any 
wing,  because  Harry  Sin  — " 


174  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  Now,  Lotty ! "  screamed  Nelly,  flingiDg  herself 
upon  her,  "  you  mustn't  tell  the  name." 

''So  your  name  is  Lotty,  is  it?"  said  Eyebright, 
who  had  abandoned  Genevieve  to  the  embraces  of 
Jenny,  and  was  digging  in  the  sand  with  the  rest. 

"No,  it  isn't.  My  really  name  is  Charlotte  P., 
only  Mamma  calls  me  Lotty.  I  don't  like  it  much. 
It 's  such  a  short  name,  just  Lotty.  Look  here,  you 
didn't  ever  see  me  till  to-day,  so  it  can't  make  much 
difference  to  you,  so  won't  you  please  call  me  Char- 
lotte P.  ?     I  'd  like  it  so  much  if  you  would." 

Eyebright  hastened  to  assure  Charlotte  P.  of  her 
willingness  to  grant  this  slight  favor. 

"Are  these  little  boys  your  brothers,  Lot  — 
Charlotte  P.,  I  mean  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  cried  Nelly.  "  Our  bwother  is  lots  and 
lots  bigger  than  they  are.  That's  Sinclair  and 
Fweddy.  They  ain't  no  'lation  at  all,  'cept  that  they 
live  next  door." 

"  Their  mamma 's  a  widow,"  interposed  Charlotte  P. 
"  She  plays  on  the  piano,  and  a  real  handsome  gentle- 
man comes  to  see  her  'most  every  day.  That's  what 
being  a  widow  means." 

"Look  here  w^hat  I've  found  !"  shouted  Sinclair, 


SHUT   UP   IN   THE   OVEN.  175 

who  had  gone  farther  down  the  beach.  "I  guess 
it's  a  shrimp.  And  if  I  had  a  match  I'd  make  a 
fire  and  cook  it,  for  I  read  in  a  book  once  that 
shrimps  are  delicious." 

"  Let  me  see  him  !  Let  me  see  him  ! "  clamored  the 
little   ones.     Then,  in  a  tone  of  disgust :  "Oh,  my  I 
ain't  he  horrid-looking  and  little.    He  isn't  any  bigger 
than  the  head  of  a  pin  " 

"  That 's  not  true,"  asserted  Sinclair :  "  he 's  bigger 
than  the  head  of  my  mamma's  shawl-pin,  and  that 's 
ever  so  big." 

"  I  don't  believe  he 's  good  a  bit,"  declared  Lotty. 

"  Then  you  shan't  have  any  of  him  when  he 's 
cooked,"  said  Sinclair.  "  I  've  got  a  jelly-fish,  too. 
He 's  in  a  hole  with  a  little  water  in  it,  but  he  can't 
get  out.  I  mean  to  eat  him,  too.  Are  jelly-fish 
good  ? "  to  Eyebright. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  are,"  she  replied.  "  I  never 
heard  of  anybody's  eating  them." 

"  I  like  fishes,"  went  on  Sinclair.  "  My  mamma 
says  she  guesses  I've  got  a  taste  for  nat-nat-ural 
history.  When  I  grow  up  I  mean  to  read  all  the 
books  about  animals." 

"And  what  do  you  like  ?"  asked  Eyebright  of  the 


176  EYEBRIGHT. 

other  little  boy,  who  had  not  spoken  yet,  and  whose 
fair  baby  face  had  an  odd,  almost  satirical  expres- 
sion. 

"  Fried  hominy,"  was  the  unexpected  reply,  uttered 
in  a  sharp,  distinct  voice.  The  children  shouted  and 
Eyebright  laughed,  but  Freddy  only  smiled  faintly  in 
a  condescending  way.  And  now  Eyebright  remem- 
bered that  she  was  on  her  road  to  the  cave,  —  a  fact 
quite  forgotten  for  the  moment,  —  and  she  jumped  itp 
and  said  she  must  go. 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Waurigan  will  know  where  the 
Oven  is,"  she  added. 

"  I  guess  so,"  replied  Lotty ;  "  because  she  does 
know  about  a  great  many,  many  things.  Good-by !  — 
do  come  again  to-morrow,  and  bring  Dolly,  won't 
you  ? "  and  she  gave  Genevieve  one  kiss  and  Eye- 
bright  another.  "  You  're  pretty  big  to  play  with  dolls, 
I  think.  But  then  "  —  meditatively  —  "  she's  a  pretty 
big  doll  too." 

Mrs.  Waurigan  was  knitting  a  blue-yarn  stocking. 
She  could  tell  Eyebright  nothing  about  the  Oven. 

"  I  know  it's  not  a  great  way  off,"  she  said.  "  But 
I  've  never  been  there.  It  can't  be  over  a  mile,  if  it 's 
so   much   as  that;    that   I'm   sure  of.     Have    you 


SHUT   UP   IN   THE   OVEN.  177 

walked  up  all  the  way  from  Scrapplehead  ?  I  want 
to  know  ?     It 's  a  long  way  for  you  to  come." 

"  Kot  so  far  as  ISTew  York  city,"  said  Eyebright, 
laughing.  "  Those  little  girls  tell  me  they  come  from 
there." 

"  Yes ;  the  twins  and  Sinclair  and  Freddy  all  come 
from  ]^ew  York.  Their  mother,  Mis'  Brown,  who  is 
a  real  nice  lady,  was  up  here  last  year.  She  took  a 
dosprit  fancy  to  the  place,  and  when  the  children  had 
scarlet  fever  in  the  spring,  and  Lotty  was  so  sick  that 
the  doctor  didn't  think  she  'd  ever  get  over  it,  she  just 
packed  their  trunk  and  sent  them  right  off  here  just  as 
soon  as  they  was  fit  to  travel.  She  said  all  she  asked 
was  that  I  'd  feed  'em  and  do  for  'em  just  as  I  do  for 
my  own ;  and  you  wouldn't  believe  how  much  they  've 
improved  since  they  came.  They  look  peaked  enough 
still,  but  for  all  that  nobody'd  think  that  they  were 
the  same  children." 

"  And  did  the  little  boys  come  with  them  ? " 

"  Yes.  They  're  neighbors,  Miss'  Brown  wrote,  and 
their  mother  wanted  to  go  to  the  Springs,  or  some- 
where, so  she  asked  mightn't  they  come,  too.  At 
first,  I  thought  I  couldn't  hardly  manage  with  so 
many,  but  they  haven't  been  a  bit  of  trouble     Just 


178  EYEBRIGHT. 

set  them  anywheres  down  on  the  shore,  and  they  11 
dig  all  day  and  be  as  happy  as  clams.  The  only  bad 
things  is  boots.  Miss'  Brown,  she  sent  seven  pairs 
apiece  in  the  trunk,  and,  you  would  hardly  believe  it, 
they  're  on  the  sixth  pair  already.  Eocks  is  dreadful 
hard  on  leather,  and  so  is  sand.  But  I  guess  their 
Ma  wont  care  so 's  they  go  back  strong  and  healthy." 

"  I  'm  sure  she  won't,"  said  Eyebright.  "  Now  I 
must  be  going,  or  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  into  the  cave 
when  I  find  it." 

"You'd  better  come  in  and  get  a  bite  of  some- 
thing to  eat  as  you  come  back,"  said  Mrs.  Waurigan. 
"  That's  the  house  just  across  that  pasture.  'T  ain't 
but  a  step  out  of  your  way." 

"Oh,  thank  you.  How  kind  you  are!"  replied 
Eyebright.  Then  she  said  good-by  and  hurried  on, 
thinking  to  herself, —  "Maine  is  full  of  good  people, 
I  do  believe.  I  wish  Wealthy  could  come  up  here 
and  see  how  nice  they  are." 

It  seemed  more  than  a  mile  to  the  Oven,  but  she 
made  the  distance  longer  than  it  was  by  continually 
going  down  to  the  water's  edge  to  make  sure  that  she 
was  not  passing  the  cave  without  knowing  it.  It  was 
almost  by  accident  that  in  the  end  she  lighted  upon 


SHUT   UP   IN   THE   OVEN.  179 

it.  Strolling  a  little  out  of  her  way  to  pick  a  partic- 
ularly blue  harebell  which  had  caught  her  eye,  she 
suddenly  found  herself  on  the  edge  of  a  hollow 
chasm,  and,  peeping  over,  perceived  that  it  must  be 
the  place  she  was  in  search  of.  Scrambling  down 
from  her  perch,  which  was  about  half-way  up  one  side, 
she  found  herself  in  a  deep  recess,  overhung  by  a 
large  rock,  which  formed  a  low  archway  across  its 
front.  The  floor  ran  back  for  a  long  distance,  rising 
gradually,  in  irregular  terraces,  till  it  met  the  roof ;  and 
here  and  there  along  these  terraces  were  basin-like 
holes  full  of  gleaming  water,  which  must  be  the  pools 
Mrs.  Downs  had  talked  about. 

Eyebright  had  never  seen  a  cave  before,  though  she 
had  read  and  played  about  caves  all  her  life,  so  you 
can  imagine  her  ecstasy  and  astonishment  at  finding 
herself  in  a  real  one  at  last.  It  was  as  good  as  the 
"  Arabian  Nights,"  she  thought,  and  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter than  the  cave  in  the  "  Swiss  Family  Eobinson." 
Indeed,  it  was  a  beautiful  place.  Cool  green  light 
filbd  it,  like  sunshine  filtered  through  sea-water. 
The  rocky  shelves  were  red,  or  rather  a  deep  rosy 
pink,  and  the  water  in  the  pools  was  of  the  color  of 
emerald  and  beautifully  clear.     She  climbed  up  to  the 


180  EYEBRIGHT. 

nearest  pool,  and  gave  a  loud  scream  of  delight,  tbi 
there,  under  her  eye,  was  a  miniature  flower-garden, 
made  by  the  fairies,  it  would  seem,  and  filled  with 
dahlia-shaped  and  hollyhock-shaped  things,  purple, 
crimson,  and  deep  orange ;  which  were  flowers  to  all 
appearance,  and  yet  must  be  animals ;  for  they  opened 
and  shut  their  many-tinted  petals,  and  moved  and 
swayed  when  she  dipped  her  fingers  in  and  splashed 
the  water  about.  There  were  green  spiky  things,  too, 
exactly  like  freshly  fallen  chestnut  burrs,  lettuce-like 
leaves,  — pale  red  ones,  as  fine  as  tissue-paper,  —  and 
delicate  filmy  foliage  in  soft  brown  and  in  white. 
Yellow  snails  clung  to  the  sides  of  the  pool,  vivid  in 
color  as  the  blossom  of  a  trumpet-creeper;  and,  as 
she  lay  with  her  face  close  to  the  surface  of  the  water, 
a  small,  bright  fish  swam  from  under  the  leaves,  and 
darted  across  the  pool  like  a  quick  sun  ray.  Never, 
even  in  her  dreams,  had  Eyebright  imagined  any 
thing  like  it,  and  in  her  delight  she  gave  Genevieve  a 
great  hug,  and  cried :  — 

"  Aren't  you  glad  I  brought  you,  dear,  and  oh,  isn't 
it  beautiful?" 

There  were  several  pools,  one  above  another,  and 
each  higher  one  seemed  more  beautiful  than  the  next 


SHUT    UP    IN   THE   OVEN.  181 

below.  The  very  biggest  "  dahlia  "  of  all  —  Anem- 
one was  its  real  name,  but  Eyebright  did  not  know 
that  —  was  in  the  highest  of  these  pools,  and  Eye- 
bright  lay  so  long  looking  at  it  and  giving  it  an  occa- 
sional tickle  with  her  forefinger  to  make  it  open  and 
shut,  that  she  never  noticed  how  fast  the  tide  was 
beginning  to  pour  in.  At  last,  one  great  wave  rolled 
up  and  broke  almost  at  her  feet,  and  she  suddenly 
bethought  herself  that  it  might  be  time  to  go.  Alas  ! 
the  thought  came  too  late,  as  in  another  minute  she 
saw.  The  rocks  at  the  side,  down  which  she  had 
climbed,  were  cut  ofp  by  deep  water.  She  hurried 
across  to  the  other  side  to  see  if  it  were  not  possible 
to  get  out  there ;  but  it  was  even  worse,  and  the  tide 
ran  after  as  she  scrambled  back,  and  wetted  her 
ankles  before  she  could  gain  the  place  where  she  had 
been  sitting  before  she  made  this  disagreeable  dis- 
covery. That  wasn't  safe  either,  for  pretty  soon  2. 
splash  reached  her  there,  and  she  took  Genevieve  in 
her  arms  and  climbed  up  higher  still,  feeling  like  a 
hunted  thing,  and  as  if  the  sea  were  chasing  her  and 
would  catch  her  if  it  possibly  could. 

It  was  a  great  comfort  just  then  to  recollect  what 
Mr.  Downs  had  said  about  the  cave  being  safe  enough 


182  EYEBRIGHT. 

for  people  who  were  caught  there  by  the  tide, "  in  ordin- 
ary weather."  Eyebright  worried  a  little  over  that 
word  "  ordinary,"  but  the  sun  was  shining  outside,  and 
she  could  see  its  gleam  through  the  lower  waves ;  the 
water  came  in  quietly,  which  proved  that  there  wasn't 
much  wind ;  and  altogether  she  concluded  that  there 
couldn't  be  any  thing  extraordinary  about  this  par- 
ticular day.  I  think  she  proved  herself  a  brave  little 
thing,  and  sensible,  too,  to  be  able  to  reason  this  out 
as  she  did,  and  avoid  useless  fright ;  but,  for  all  her 
bravery,  she  couldn't  help  crying  a  little  as  she  sat 
there  like  a  limpet  among  the  rocks,  and  realized  that 
the  Oven  door  was  fast  shut,  and  she  couldn't  get  out 
for  ever  so  many  hours.  All  of  a  sudden  it  came  to 
her  quite  distinctly  how  foolish  and  rash  it  was  to 
have  come  there  all  alone,  without  permission  from 
papa,  or  letting  anybody  know  of  her  intention.  It 
was  one  comfort  that  papa  at  that  moment  was  in 
Malachi,  and  couldn't  be  anxious  about  her;  but^ 
"  Oh  dear ! "  Eyebright  thought,  "  how  dreadfully  he 
would  feel  if  I  never  did  get  out,  and  he  came  back 
and  found  me  gone,  and  nobody  could  tell  him  where 
I  was.  I  *11  never  do  such  a  bad,  naughty  thing  again, 
never,  —  if   I  ever  do  get  out,  that  is  — "  she  lO' 


SHUT   UP  IN   THE   OVEN.  183 

fleeted,  as  the  water  climbed  higher  and  higher,  and 
again  she  moved  her  seat  to  avoid  it,  still  with  the 
sense  of  being  a  hunted  thing  which  the  sea  was  try- 
ing to  catch. 

Her  seat  was  now  too  far  from  the  pools  for  her 
to  note  how  the  anemones  and  snails  were  enjoying 
their  twice- a-day  visit  from  the  tide,  how  the  petals 
quivered  and  widened,  the  weeds  grew  brighter,  and 
the  fish  darted  about  with  renewed  life  and  vigor. 
I  don't  believe  it  would  have  been  much  comfort  to 
her  if  she  had  seen  them.  Fishes  are  unfriendly 
creatures ;  they  never  seem  to  care  any  thing  about 
human  beings,  or  whether  they  are  feeling  glad  or 
soiTy.  Genevieve,  for  all  her  being  made  of  wax, 
was  much  more  satisfactory.  What  was  particularly 
nice,  she  lent  Eyebright  her  blanket-shawl  to  wear, 
for  the  cave  had  begun  to  feel  very  chilly.  The  shawl 
was  not  large,  but  it  was  better  than  nothing;  and 
with  this  round  her  shoulders,  and  Dolly  cuddled  in 
lier  arms,  she  sat  on  the  very  highest  ledge  of  all  and 
watched  the  water  rise.  She  couldn't  go  any  higher, 
so  she  hoped  it  couldn't,  either ;  and  as  she  sat,  she 
sang  all  the  songs  and  hymns  she  knew,  to  keep  her 
spirits  up, — "Out  on  an  Ocean,"  "Shining  Shore" 


184  EYEBRIGHT. 

(how  she  wished  herself  on  one  !), "  Eosalie,  the  Prairie 
Flower,"  "  Old  Dog  Tray,"  and  ever  so  many  others. 
It  was  a  very  miscellaneous  concert,  but  did  as  well 
for  Eyebright  and  the  fishes  as  the  most  classical 
music  could  have  done ;  better,  perhaps,  for  Mozart 
and  Beethoven  might  have  sounded  a  little  mournful, 
and  "songs  without  words"  would  never  have  an- 
swered. Songs  with  words  were  what  were  wanted 
In  that  emergency. 

The  tide  halted  at  last,  after  filling  the  cave  about 
two-thirds  full.  Once  sure  that  it  had  turned  and 
was  going  down,  Eyebright  felt  easier,  and  could  even 
enjoy  herself  again.  She  ate  the  bread  and  butter 
with  a  good  appetite,  only  wishing  there  was  more  of 
it,  and  then  made  up  a  delightful  story  about  robbers 
and  a  cave  and  a  princess,  in  which  she  herself  played 
the  part  of  the  princess,  who  was  shut  in  the  cave 
of  an  enchanter  till  a  prince  should  come  and  release 
her  through  a  hole  in  the  top.  By  the  time  that  this 
happened  and  the  princess  was  safely  out,  the  upper- 
most pool  was  uncovered,  and  Eyebright  clambered 
down  the  wet  rocks  and  took  another  long  look  at  it, 
"  making  believe  "  that  it  was  a  garden  which  a  good 
fairy  had  planted  to  amuse  the  princess  ;  and,  indeed, 


SHUT   \JV   IN   THE   OVEN.  186 

tio  fairy  could  have  invented  a  prettier  one.  So,  little 
by  little,  and  following  the  receding  sea,  she  was  able 
at  last,  with  a  jump  and  a  long  step,  to  reach  the 
rocky  pathway  by  which  she  had  come  down,  and 
two  minutes  later  she  was  on  top  of  the  cliff  again, 
and  in  the  sunshine,  which  felt  particularly  warm 
and  pleasant.  The  sun  was  half-way  down  the  sky ; 
she  had  been  in  the  cave  almost  six  hours,  and  she 
knew  it  must  be  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Neither  Mrs.  Waurigan  nor  the  party  of  children 
was  visible  as  she  passed  the  house.  They  had  prob- 
ably gone  in  for  tea,  and  she  did  not  stop  to  look  them 
up,  for  a  great  longing  for  home  had  seized  upon 
her.  The  tide  delayed  her  a  little  while  at  the  cause- 
way, so  ihat  it  was  past  six  when  she  finally  reached 
the  isLcjid,  and  her  boots  were  wet  from  the  soaked 
sand ;  br.t  she  didn't  mind  that  a  bit,  she  was  so  very 
glad  to  be  safely  there  again.  She  pulled  them  off, 
put  on  dry  stockings  and  shoes,  made  the  fire,  filled 
the  tea-kettle,  set  the  table,  and,  after  a  light  repast 
of  bread  and  milk,  curled  herself  up  in  the  rocking- 
chair  f  jr  a  long  nap,  and  did  not  wake  till  nearly 
nine,  when  papa  came  in,  having  been  set  ashore 
by  the  schooner's   boat  as  it  passed  by.     He   had 


186  EYEBIBGHT. 

a  large  codfish  in  his  hand,  swung  from  a  loop  of 
string. 

"  Well,  it  has  been  a  nice  day,"  he  said,  cheerfully, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "  The  wind  was  fair  both  ways. 
We  did  some  fishing,  and  I  caught  this  big  fellow.  I 
don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed  any  thing  so  much. 
What  sort  of  a  day  have  you  had,  little  daughter  ? " 

Eyebright  began  to  tell  him,  but  at  the  same  time 
began  to  cry,  which  made  her  story  rather  difficult  to 
understand.  Mr.  Bright  looked  very  grave  when  at 
last  he  comprehended  the  danger  she  had  been  in. 

"  I  shan't  dare  to  go  anywhere  again,"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  I  could  trust  you,  Eyebright.  I  supposed  you 
were  too  sensible  and  steady  to  do  such  a  wild  thing  as 
this.  I  am  very  much  surprised  and  very  much  dis- 
appointed." 

These  words  were  the  heaviest  punishment  which 
Eyebright  could  have  had,  for  she  was  proud  of  being 
trusted  and  trustworthy.  Papa  had  sat  down  and  was 
leaning  his  head  on  his  hand  in  a  dispirited  way.  All 
his  bright  look  was  overclouded,  —  the  pleasant  day 
seemed  forgotten  and  almost  spoiled.  She  felt  that 
it  was  her  fault,  and  reproached  herself  more  than 
ever. 


SHUT   UP  IN   THE  OVEN.  187 

**0h,  please  don't  say  that,  papa,"  she  pleaded, 
tearfully.  "  I  can  be  trusted,  really  and  truly  I  can. 
I  won't  ever  go  to  any  dangerous  place  alone  again, 
really  I  won't.  Just  forgive  me  this  time,  and  you  '11 
see  how  good  I  '11  be  all  the  rest  of  my  life." 

So  papa  forgave  her,  and  she  kept  her  promise,  and 
never  did  go  off  on  any  thoughtless  expeditions  again, 
as  long  as  she  lived  on  Causey  Island. 


188  EYEBEIGHT. 


CHAPTEK    X. 

A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER. 

|T  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  Eyebriglit,  alone 
in  the  kitchen,  was  hanging  up  the  stock- 
ings before  going  to  bed.  Papa,  who  had 
a  headache,  had  retired  early,  so  there  was  no  one  to 
interrupt  her.  She  only  wished  there  had  been.  Half 
the  fun  of  Christmas  seems  missing  when  there  is 
nobody  from  whom  to  keep  a  secret,  no  mystery,  no 
hiding  of  things  in  corners  and  bringing  them  out  at 
just  the  right  moment.  Very  carefully  she  tied  papa's 
stocking  to  the  corner  of  the  chimney  and  proceeded 
to  ''fill"  it;  that  is,  to  put  in  a  pair  of  old  fur  gloves 
which  she  had  discovered  in  one  of  the  boxes,  and 
had  mended  by  way  of  a  surprise,  and  a  small  silk 
bag  full  of  hickory-nut  meats,  carefully  picked  from 
the  shells.  These  were  all  the  Christmas  gifts  she 
had  been  able  to  get  for  papa,  and  the  long  gray 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   189 

stocking-leg  looked  very  empty  to  her  eyes.  She 
had  wished  much  to  knit  him  a  comforter,  but  it  was 
three  weeks  and  more  since  either  of  them  had  been 
able  to  get  to  the  village ;  besides  which,  she  knew 
that  papa  felt  very  poor  indeed,  and  she  did  not  like 
to  ask  for  money,  even  so  little  as  would  have  carried 
out  her  wish.  "  This  must  do,"  she  said,  with  a  quick 
sigh.  Then  she  hung  up  her  own  stocking,  and  went 
upstairs.  Eyebright  always  had  hung  up  her  stocking 
on  Christmas  Eve  ever  since  she  could  remember,  and 
she  did  it  now  more  from  the  force  of  habit  than  any 
thing  else,  forgetting  that  there  was  no  Wealthy  at 
hand  to  put  things  in,  and  that  they  were  living  on 
an  island  which,  since  winter  began,  seemed  to  have 
changed  its  place,  and  swung  a  great  deal  farther  away 
from  things  and  people  and  the  rest  of  the  world  than 
it  had  been. 

Eor  winter  comes  early  to  the  Maine  coasts.  Long 
before  Thanksgiving,  the  ground  was  white  with  snow, 
and  it  stayed  white  from  that  time  on  till  spring. 
After  the  first  heavy  storm,  the  farmers  turned  out 
with  snow-ploughs  to  break  paths  through  the  village. 
As  more  snow  fell,  it  was  shovelled  out  and  thrown  on 
either  side  of  the  path,  till  the  long  double  mounds 


190  EYEBRIGHT. 

half  hid  the  people  who  walked  between.  But  there 
was  no  one  to  break  a  path  along  the  shore  toward 
the  causeway.  The  tide,  rising  and  falling,  kept  a 
L'ttle  strip  of  sand  clear  for  part  of  the  distance,  and 
on  this  Eyebright  now  and  then  made  her  way  to  the 
village.  But  it  was  a  hard  and  uncertain  walk,  and 
as  rowing  the  boat  w^as  very  cold  work,  it  happened 
sometimes  that  for  weeks  together  neither  she  nor 
papa  left  the  island,  or  saw  anybody  except  each 
other. 

This  would  have  seemed  very  lonely,  indeed,  had 
not  the  house-w^ork  filled  up  so  much  of  her  time. 
Papa  had  no  such  resource.  After  the  wood  was 
chopped,  and  the  cow  fed,  and  a  little  snow  shovelled, 
perhaps,  —  that  was  all.  He  could  not  find  pleasure, 
as  Eyebright  did,  in  reading  over  and  over  again  a 
book  which  he  already  knew  by  heart;  the  climate 
did  not  brace  and  stimulate  him  as  it  did  her;  the 
cold  affected  him  very  much ;  he  moped  in  the  sol- 
itude, and  time  hung  heavily  upon  his  hands. 

Eyebright  often  wondered  how  they  could  ever  have 
got  along  —  or,  in  fact,  if  it  could  have  been  possible 
to  get  along  at  all  —  without  their  cow.  Papa  had 
bought  her  in  the  autumn,  when  he  began  to  realize 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   191 

how  completely  they  were  to  be  shut  off  from  village 
supplies  in  bad  weather.  She  was  a  good-natured; 
yellow  beast,  without  any  pedigree,  or  any  name  till 
Eyebright  dabbed  her  "  Golden  Eod,'*  partly  because 
of  her  color,  and  partly  because  the  field  in  which 
she  grazed  before  she  came  to  them  was  full  of  goldoji- 
rod,  which  the  cow  was  supposed  to  eat,  though  I  dare 
say  she  didn't.  She  gave  a  good  deal  of  milk,  not  of 
the  richest  quality,  for  her  diet  was  rather  spare,  but 
it  was  a  great  help  and  comfort  to  have  it.  With  milk, 
potatoes,  cabbages,  and  beets  from  their  own  garden ; 
flour,  Indian  meal,  and  a  barrel  of  salt  beef  in  store, 
there  was  no  danger  of  starvation  on  Causey  Island, 
though  Eyebright  at  times  grew  very  tired  of  ringing 
the  changes  on  these  few  articles  of  diet,  and  trying 
to  invent  new  dishes  with  which  to  tempt  papa's 
appetite,  which  had  grown  very  poor  since  the  winter 
set  in. 

Altogether,  life  on  the  island  was  a  good  deal  harder 
and  less  pleasant  now  than  it  had  been  in  summer- 
time, and  the  sea  was  a  great  deal  less  pleasant.  Eye- 
bright  loved  it  still ;  but  her  love  was  mingled  with 
fear,  and  she  began  to  realize  what  a  terrible  thing 
the  ocean  can  be.   The  great  gray  waves  which  leaped 


192  EYEBRIGHT. 

and  roared  and  flung  themselves  madly  on  the  rocks, 
were  so  different  from  the  blue,  rippling  waves  of  the 
summer,  that  she  could  hardly  believe  it  the  same 
sea.  And  even  when  pleasant  days  came,  and  the 
waves  grew  calm,  and  the  beautiful  color  returned  to 
the  water,  still  the  other  and  frightful  look  of  the 
ocean  remained  in  her  memory,  and  her  bad  dreams 
were  always  about  storms  and  shipwrecks.  Many 
more  boats  passed  between  Malachi  and  Scrapplehead 
in  winter  than  in  summer.  Now  that  the  inland  roads 
were  blocked  with  snow,  and  the  Boston  steamer  had 
ceased  to  run,  the  mails  came  that  way,  being  brought 
over  every  week  in  a  sail-boat.  Even  row-boats  passed 
to  and  fro  in  calm  weather,  and  what  with  lumber 
vessels  and  fishing  smacks,  and  an  occasional  traveller 
from  out-of-the-way  Canada,  sails  at  sea,  or  the  sound 
of  clinking  oars  off  the  bathing-beach,  became  of  fre- 
quent occurrence.  These  little  boats  out  in  the  great 
fierce  ocean  weighed  heavily  on  Eyebright's  mind 
sometimes.  Especially  was  this  the  case  when  heavy 
fogs  wrapped  the  coast,  as  occasionally  they  did  for 
days  together,  making  all  landmarks  dangerously  dim 
and  indistinct.  At  such  times  it  seemed  as  if  Causey 
Island  were  a  big  rocky  lump  which  had  got  in  the 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   193 

way,  and  against  which  ships  were  almost  certain  to 
run.  She  wished  very  much  for  a  light-house,  and  she 
coaxed  papa  to  let  her  keep  a  kerosene  lamp  burning 
in  the  window  of  her  bedroom  on  all  foggy  and  very 
dark  nights.  "The  little  gaFs  lamp,**  the  Malachi 
sailors  calh^.d  it,  and  they  learned  to  look  for  it  as  a 
guide,  though  its  reflective  power  was  not  enough  to 
make  it  serviceable  in  a  fog,  which  was  the  chief 
danger  of  all. 

There  was  no  fog,  however,  when  she  opened  her 
eyes  on  Christmas  morning,  but  a  bright  sun,  just 
rising,  which  was  a  sort  of  Christmas  present  in  itself. 
She  made  haste  to  dress,  for  she  heard  papa  moving 
in  his  room,  and  she  wished  to  get  down  first,  but  he 
was  as  quick  as  she,  and  they  finally  met  at  the  stair- 
top,  and  went  down  together. 

When  he  saw  the  stockings,  he  looked  surprised 
and  vexed. 

"  Dear  me !  did  you  hang  up  your  stocking.  Eye- 
bright  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  depressed  tone.  "  I  quite 
forgot  it  was  Christmas.  You'll  have  no  presents, 
my  child,  I'm  afraid.'* 

"  Never  mind,  papa,  I  don't  care ;  I  don't  want 
anj  thing,"  said  Eyebright. 


194  EYEBRIGHT. 

She  spoke  bravely,  but  there  was  a  lump  in  her 
throat,  and  she  could  hardly  keep  from  tears.  It 
seemed  so  strange  and  dreadful  not  to  have  any  thing 
at  all  in  her  stocking,  —  not  one  single  thing !  She 
had  not  thought  much  about  the  matter,  but  with 
childish  faith  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  she  must 
have  something  —  some  sort  of  a  present,  and  for  a 
moment  the  disappointment  was  hard  to  bear. 

Papa  looked  very  much  troubled,  especially  when 
he  spied  his  own  stocking  and  perceived  that  his  little 
daughter  had  remembered  him  while  he  had  forgotten 
her.  He  spent  the  morning  rummaging  his  desk  and 
the  trunks  upstairs,  as  if  in  search  of  something, 
and  after  dinner  announced  that  he  was  going  to  the 
village  to  get  the  mail.  The  mails  came  into  Scrap- 
plehead  twice  a  week,  but  he  seldom  had  any  letters, 
and  Eyebright  never,  so,  as  a  general  thing,  they  were 
not  very  particular  about  calling  regularly  at  the 
post-office. 

Eyebright  wanted  to  go,  too,  but  the  day  was  so 
cold  that  papa  thought  she  would  better  not.  She 
wrapped  liim  in  every  warm  thing  she  could  find, 
and  drew  the  fur-gloves  over  his  fingers  with  great 
satisfaction. 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHOUT  CHAPTER.   195 

'*  They  will  keep  you  quite  warm,  won't  they  ? " 
slie  said.  "Your  fingers  would  almost  freeze  with- 
out them,  wouldn't  they  ?  You  like  them,  don't  you, 
papa  ? " 

''  Very  much/'  said  Mr.  Bright,  giving  her  a  good- 
by  kiss. 

Then  he  stepped  into  the  boat  and  took  the  oars, 
while  she  wrapped  her  arms  in  her  shawl  and  watched 
him  row  away.  Her  breath  froze  on  the  air  like  a 
cloud  of  white  steam.  She  felt  her  ears  tingle,  and 
presently  ran  back  to  the  house,  feeling  as  if  Jack 
Frost  were  nipping  her  as  she  ran,  but  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  spirits  brightened  by  the  splendid  air. 

Just  before  sunset  papa  came  rowing  back.  He 
was  almost  stiff  with  cold,  but  when  once  he  had 
thawed  out  in  the  warm  kitchen,  he  seemed  none  the 
worse  for  that.  It  was  quite  exciting  to  hear  from 
the  village  after  such  a  long  silence.  Papa  had  seen 
Mrs.  Downs  and  Mr.  Downs  and  the  children.  Benny 
had  had  the  mumps,  but  he  was  almost  well  again. 
A  [is.  Downs  sent  hei  love  to  Eyebright,  and  a  mince 
pie  pinned  up  in  a  towel.  This  was  very  nice,  but 
when  Eyebright  unpinned  the  towel  and  saw  the  piei 
slie  gave  a  scream  of  dismay. 


196  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  Why,  papa,  it 's  all  hard,"  she  said,  "  and  it  *s  just 
like  ice.  Touch  it,  papa ;  did  you  ever  feel  any  thing 
fiocold?" 

In  fact,  the  pie  was  frozen  hard,  and  had  to  be 
thawed  for  a  long  time  in  the  oven  before  it  was  fit 
to  eat.  While  this  process  was  going  on,  papa  pro- 
duced a  little  parcel  from  his  pocket.  It  was  a  Christ- 
mas present,  —  a  pretty  blue  neck-tie.  Eyebright  was 
delighted,  and  showed  her  gratitude  by  kissing  papa 
at  least  a  dozen  times,  and  dancing  about  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  and  here 's  a  letter  for  you,  too,"  he  said. 

"  A  letter  for  me.  How  queer !  I  never  had  a  letter 
before,  that  I  remember.  Why,  it 's  from  Wealthy ! 
Papa,  I  wish  you  'd  read  it  to  me.  It  looks  very  hard 
to  make  out.  Wealthy  writes  such  a  funny  hand. 
Don't  you  recollect  how  she  used  to  work  over  her 
copy-book,  with  her  nose  almost  touching  the  paper, 
and  how  inky  she  used  to  get  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  heard  from  Wealthy 
since  they  left  Tunxet,  more  than  eight  months  before. 
Wealthy  wrote  very  few  letters,  and  those  few  cost 
an  amount  of  time,  trouble,  and  ink-spots,  which 
would  have  discouraged  most  people  from  writing 
at  all. 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   197 

This  was  the  letter :  — 

DfjlR  Eyebright  :  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  tell  you  that  I  am 
welly  and  hope  you  are  the  same.  All  the  friends  here  is  well,  except 
Miss  Bury.  She  's  down  with  intennitting  fever,  and  old  Misa 
Beadle.*  is  dead  and  buried.  Whether  that 's  being  well  or  not  I 
can't  say.  Some  folks  think  so,  and  some  folks  don't.  I  haint 
written  before.  I  aint  much  of  a  scribe,  as  you  know,  so  I  judge 
you  haven't  been  surprised  at  not  hearing  of  me.  I  might  have 
writ  sooner,  but  along  in  the  fall  my  arm  was  kind  of  lamed  with 
rheumatism,  and  when  I  got  over  that,  there  was  Mandy  Harmon's 
weddin'  things  to  do, —  Pelatiah  Harmon's  daughter,  down  to  the 
corners,  you  know.  What  girls  want  so  many  clothes  for  when  they 
get  married,  I.  cant  for  the  life  of  me  tell.  The  shops  don't  shut 
up  for  good  just  afterward,  so  far  as  anybody  knows,  but  you  'd 
think  they  did  from  the  fuss  some  of  them  make.  Mandy  had  five 
new  dresses.  They  was  cut  down  to  Worcester,  but  I  made  them, 
besides  two  calikus  and  ten  of  every  thing,  and  a  double  gown  and 
an  Ulster  and  the  Lord  knows  what  not.  I  *ve  had  to  stick  to  it  to 
put  *em  through,  but  they  're  all  done  at  last,  and  she  got  married 
last  week  and  went  off,  and  she  '11  spend  the  next  few  years  a-alterin' 
of  them  things  over,  or  I  miss  my  guess.  That  Mather  girl  keeps 
asking  me  about  you,  but  I  tell  her  you  haint  wrote  but  twice,  and 
1  don't  know  no  more  than  she  does.  Mr.  Bury  got  your  Pa's  let- 
ter. We  was  glad  to  hear  you  liked  it  up  there,  but  most  places  is 
pleasant  enough  in  summer.  Winter  is  the  tug.  I  suppose  it 's 
cold  enough  where  you  are,  sometimes,  judging  from  Probbabillities. 
Mr.  Asher  has  took  the  house.  Tell  your  Pa.  It  dont  look  much 
like  old  times.  He  has  put  wooden  points  on  top  of  the  barn  and 
mended  the  back  gate,  and  he  's  got  a  nasty  Newfoundland  which 
barks  most  all  the  time.    Now  I  must  conclude.  —  Yours  truly, 

Wealthy  A.  Judson. 

P.  S.  —  My  respects  to  your  Pa  and  to  all  inquiring  friends.  1  waa 
thinking  that  that  water-proof  of  your  Ma's  had  better  be  cut  ovei 
for  you  in  the  spring.  What  kind  of  helo  do  you  get  up  in 
Maine  ? 


198  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  Oil,  how  like  dear,  funny  old  Wealthy  that  is  ! " 
cried  Eyebright,  as  between  smiles  and  tears  she  lis- 
tened to  the  reading  of  this  letter.  "  Whom  do  you 
suppose  she  means  by  '  all  inquiring  friends '  ?  And 
isn't  it  just  like  her  to  call  Bessie  *  that  Mather  girl  *  ? 
Wealthy  never  could  endure  Bessie,  —  I  can't  imagine 
why.  Well,  this  has  been  a  real  nice  Christmas,  after 
all.  I  'm  glad  you  didn't  go  to  the  post-office  last 
week,  papa,  for  then  we  should  have  got  the  letter 
sooner,  and  shouldn't  have  had  it  for  to-day.  It  was 
much  nicer  to  have  it  now." 

"Winter's  the  tug."  Eyebright  thought  often  of 
this  sentence  of  Wealthy's  as  the  long  weeks  went 
by,  and  still  the  cold  continued  and  the  spring  delayed, 
till  ijb  seemed  as  though  it  were  never  coming  at  all, 
and  papa  grew  thinner  and  more  listless  and  discour- 
aged all  the  time.  The  loneliness  and  want  of  oc- 
cupation hurt  him  more  than  it  did  Eyebright,  and 
when  spring  came,  as  at  last  it  did,  his  spirits  did  not 
revive  as  she  had  hoped  they  would.  Farming  was 
trying  and  depressing  work  on  Causey  Island.  The 
land  was  poor  and  rocky,  —  "out  of  heart,"  as  the 
saying  is,  —  and  Mr.  Bright  had  neither  the  spirit  nor 
the  money  to  brinsr  it  into  condition.     He  missed  bis 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   199 

old  occupation  and  his  old  neighbors  more  than  he 
had  expected ;  he  missed  newspapers  ;  and  a  growing 
anxiety  about  the  future,  and  about  Eyebright,  —  who 
was  gei  ting  no  schooling  of  any  kind,  —  combined  to 
depress  him  and  give  him  the  feeling  that  he  had 
dropped  out  of  life,  and  there  was  no  use  in  trying 
to  make  things  better. 

It  was  certainly  a  disadvantage  to  Eyebright,  at  her 
age,  to  be  taken  out  of  school ;  still  life  on  the  island 
was  a  schooling  for  all  that,  and  schooling  of  a  very 
useful  kind.  History  and  geography  are  excellent 
things,  but  no  geography  or  history  can  take  the  place 
of  the  lessons  which  Eyebright  was  now  learning, — 
lessons  in  patience,  unselfishness,  good-humor,  and 
helpfulness.  When  she  fought  with  her  own  little 
discontents  and  vexations,  and  kept  her  face  bright 
and  sunny  for  papa's  sake,  she  was  gaining  more 
good  than  she  could  have  done  from  the  longest  chap- 
ter in  the  best  school-book  ever  printed.  Not  that  the 
school-books  are  not  desirable,  too,  or  that  Eyebright 
did  not  miss  them.  After  the  first  novelty  of  their 
new  life  was  over,  she  missed  school  very  much,  — 
not  the  fun  of  school  only,  but  the  actual  study  itselt 
Her  mind  felt  as  they  say  teething  dogs  do,  as  if  it 


200  EYEBTIIGHT. 

must  have  something  to  bite  on.  She  tried  the  ex- 
periment of  setting  herself  lessons,  but  it  did  not 
succeed  very  well.  There  was  no  one  to  explain  the 
little  difficulties  that  arose,  and  she  grew  puzzled  and 
confused,  and  lost  the  desire  to  go  on. 

Another  thing  which  she  missed  very  much  was 
going  to  church.  There  had  never  been  either  a  church 
or  a  Sunday-school  in  Scrapplehead,  and  the  people 
who  made  any  difference  for  Sunday  made  it  by  idling 
about,  which  was  almost  worse  than  working.  At 
first,  Eyebright  tried  to  observe  the  day  after  a  fashion, 
by  learning  a  hymn  and  studying  a  short  Bible  lesson, 
but  such  good  habits  drop  off  after  a  while,  when  there 
is  nothing  and  nobody  to  remind  or  help  us,  and  little 
by  little  she  got  out  of  the  way  of  keeping  it  up,  and 
sometimes  quite  forgot  that  it  was  Sunday  till  after- 
ward. Days  were  much  alike  on  the  island,  especially 
in  winter,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  remember,  which 
must  be  her  excuse ;  but  it  was  a  sad  want  in  her 
week,  and  a  want  which  was  continually  growing 
worse  as  she  grew  older. 

Altogether,  it  was  not  a  good  or  wholesome  life  for 
a  child  to  lead,  and  only  her  high  spirits  and  sweet, 
healthful  temper  kept  her  from  being  seriously  hu]t 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   201 

by  it.  It  was  just  now  that  Mr.  Joyce's  words  were 
proved  true,  and  the  quick  power  of  imagination  with 
which  nature  had  gifted  her  became  her  best  friend. 
It  enabled  her  to  take  sights  and  sounds  into  the  place 
of  play-fellows  and  friends,  mixing  them  with  her  life 
as  it  were,  and  half  in  fun,  half  in  earnest,  getting 
companionship  out  of  them.  Skies  and  sunsets, 
flowers,  waves,  birds,  —  all  became  a  part  of  the 
fairy-world  which  lay  always  at  hand,  and  to  which 
her  mind  went  for  change  and  rest  from  work  too  hard 
and  thoughts  over-anxious  for  a  child  to  bear.  She 
was  growing  fast,  but  the  only  signs  she  gave  of 
growing  older  were  her  womanly  and  thoughtful  ways 
about  papa  and  his  comforts,  and  a  slight,  very  slight, 
difference  in  her  feeling  toward  Genevieve,  whom 
she  played  with  no  longer,  though  she  took  her  out" 
now  and  then  when  she  was  quite  alone,  and  set  her 
in  a  chair  opposite,  as  better  than  no  company  at  all. 
Eyebright  had  no  idea  of  being  disloyal  to  this  dear 
old  friend,  but  her  eyes  had  opened  to  the  fact  that 
Genevieve  was  only  wax,  and  do  what  she  could,  it 
was  impossible  to  make  her  seem  alive  any  more. 

Her  rapid  growth  was  another  trouble,  for  she  could 
not  wear  the  clothes  which  she  had  brought  with  her 
9» 


202  EYEBRIGHT. 

to  the  island,  and  it  was  very  hard  to  get  others.  Papa 
had  no  money  to  spare,  she  knew,  and  she  could  not 
bear  to  worry  him  with  her  difficulties,  so  she  went  to 
Mrs.  Downs  instead.  Mrs.  Downs  had  her  hands  full  of 
sewing  for  "  him  "  and  her  three  boys ;  still  she  found 
time  to  advise  and  help,  and  between  her  fitting  and 
Eyebright's  sewing,  a  skirt  and  jacket  were  concocted 
out  of  the  water-proof  designated  by  Wealthy,  which 
though  rather  queer  in  pattern,  did  nicely  for  cool 
days,  and  relieved  Eyebright  from  the  long-legged 
sensation  which  was  growing  over  her.  This,  with  a 
calico,  some  of  Mrs.  Bright's  underclothing  altered 
a  little,  and  a  sun-bonnet  with  a  deep  cape,  made  a 
tolerable  summer  outfit.  Gloves,  ruffles,  ribbons,  and 
such  little  niceties,  she  learned  to  do  without;  and 
when  the  sweet  summer  came  again  with  long  days 
and  warm  winds,  when  she  could  row,  sit  out-doors  as 
much  as  she  liked,  and  swing  in  the  wild-grape  ham- 
mocks which  festooned  the  shore,  she  did  not  miss  them. 
Girls  on  desert  islands  can  dispense  with  finery. 

But  summers  in  Maine  are  very  short,  and,  as 
lengthening  days  and  chilly  nights  began  to  hint  at 
coming  winter,  Eyebright  caught  herself  shivering, 
and  knew  that  she  dreaded  it  very  much  indeed. 


A  LONG  YEAR  IN  A  SHORT  CHAPTER.   203 

"  How  long  it  will  seem  ! "  she  thought.  "  And 
how  will  poor  papa  bear  it  ?  And  what  am  I  to 
do  when  all  mamma's  old  clothes  are  worn  out  ?  I 
don't  suppose  I  ever  shall  have  any  new  ones,  and 
how  I  am  to  manage,  I  cannot  imagine ! " 


204  EYEBRIGHT. 


CHAPTEE  XL 


A   STORM   ON   THE   COAST. 


[UMMERS  are  short  in  Maine;  still  the 
autumn  that  year  seemed  in  no  haste  to 
begin  its  work.  September  came  and 
went,  bringing  only  trifling  frosts,  and  the  equinoc- 
tial week  passed  without  a  storm.  In  its  place 
appeared  an  odd  yellow  mist,  which  wrapped  the 
world  in  its  folds  and  made  the  most  familiar  ob- 
jects look  strange  and  unnatural.  iTot  a  fog, — it 
was  not  dense  enough  for  that.  It  seemed  more 
like  air  made  visible,  thickened  just  a  little,  and 
tinted  with  color,  but  common  air  still,  warm, 
thin,  and  quiet.  The  wind  blew  softly  for  many 
days ;  there  was  a  general  hush  over  land  and  sea, 
and  the  sun  blinked  through  the  golden  haze  like  a 
bigger  and  hotter  moon. 

This  strange  atmosphere  lasted  so  long  that  people 


A  STORM  ON  THE  COAST.  206 

grew  accustomed  and  ceased  to  wonder  at  it.  Some 
of  the  old  sailors  shook  their  heads  and  said  it 
would  end  with  a  gale ;  but  old  sailors  are  fond  of 
prophesying  gales,  and  nobody  was  frightened  by  the 
prediction,  or  saw  any  reason  for  being  so,  as  long  as 
the  weather  remained  thus  warm  and  perfectly  calm. 

The  little  steamer  from  Malachi  to  Portland  made 
her  last  trip  for  the  season  on  the  30th  of  September ; 
and  the  day  before,  Mr.  Bright,  who  had  some  pota- 
toes to  ship  to  market,  went  over  with  them  to 
Malachi,  in  a  small  sail-boat  belonging  to  Captain 
Jim,  Mr.  Downs's  brother's  son.  They  were  not 
to  return  till  next  day,  so  it  was  arranged  that  Eye- 
bright  should  spend  the  night  with  Mrs.  Downs, 
as  papa  did  not  like  to  leave  her  alone  on  the  island. 
She  went  with  him  as  far  as  the  village,  and  kissed 
him  for  good-by  on  the  dock,  when  the  little  cargo  was 
all  on  board  and  Captain  Jim  just  ready  to  push  off.* 

"  I  shall  go  home  early  to-morrow,  and  make  some 
egg-toast  and  some  frizzled  beef  for  your  supper, 
papa,  so  mind  you  don't  stop  to  tea  with  Mrs. 
Downs,"  were  her  last  words. 

"All  right  —  I  wonV  said  her  father;  and  Cap- 
tain Jim  laughed  and  said  :  — 


206  EYEBRIGHT. 

"  You  'd  better  not  put  the  frying-pan  on  till  you 
see  us  a-coming,  for  with  this  light  wind  there 's  no 
knowing  when  we  '11  get  over,  and  the  frizzle  might 
be  sp'iled. ' 

Then  tii3  sail  flapped  and  filled,  and  off  they 
went  over  the  yellow  sea.  Eyebright  watched  till 
the  boat  passed  behind  the  island,  and  out  of  sight ; 
then  she  walked  up  the  road  to  the  Downs's,  saying 
to  herself,  — 

"What  funny  weather!  I  never  saw  any  thing 
like  it.     It  isn't  a  bit  like  last  September." 

Next  morning  showed  the  same  sultry  mist,  a 
little  thicker  if  any  thing.  Eyebright  stayed  with 
Mrs.  Downs  till  after  dinner,  helped  in  the  weekly 
baking,  hemmed  two  crash  towels,  told  Benny  a 
story,  and  set  out  for  home  a  little  after  four,  carry- 
ing a  blueberry  pie  in  a  basket  for  papa's  supper. 
As  she  toiled  over  the  sand  of  the  causeway  and  up 
tlie  steep  path,  she  was  conscious  of  a  singular  heav- 
iDess  in  the  air,  and  it  struck  her  that  the  sea  was 
making  a  sound  such  as  she  had  never  heard  before,  — 
a  sort  of  odd  shuddering  moan,  as  if  some  great  crea- 
ture was  in  pain  a  long  way  out  from  shore.  The 
water  looked  glassy  calm,  and  there  did  not  seem  to 


A   STORM   ON  THE   COAST.  207 

be  much  wind,  which  made  the  sound  even  stranger 
and  more  startling.  But  she  forgot  about  the  sound 
when  she  reached  the  house,  for  there  was  a  great 
deal  to  do  and  not  much  time  to  do  it  in,  for  Captain 
Jim  expected  to  get  back  by  six  o'clock  or  soon  after. 
What  with  sweeping  and  dusting  and  fire-making, 
an  hour  passed  rapidly,  when  suddenly  a  dusky  dark- 
ness settled  over  the  house,  and  at  the  same  moment 
a  blast  of  wind  blew  the  door  open  with  a  bang. 

"  Oh  dear,  there  is  going  to  be  a  thunder-storm," 
thought  Eyebright.  She  was  afraid  of  thunder  and 
lightning  and  did  not  like  the  idea  at  alL 

Going  to  the  door  to  shut  it,  she  stopped  short,  for 
she  saw  a  strange  sight.  One  side  of  the  heavens  was 
still  thick  with  the  yellow  haze,  but  toward  the  sea 
a  bank  of  black  clouds  was  whirling  rapidly  up  from 
the  horizon.  It  had  nearly  reached  the  zenith,  and 
had  already  hidden  the  sun  and  turned  the  afternoon 
into  temporary  twilight.  The  sea  was  glassy  smooth 
near  the  shore  —  as  smooth  as  oil ;  but  farther  out, 
the  waves  had  begun  to  toss  and  tumble,  and  the 
moaning  sound  was  become  a  deep  hollow  boom, 
which  might  easily  be  imagined  the  very  voice  of 
the  approaching  storm. 


208  EYEBRIGHT. 

Filled  with  anxiety,  Eyebright  ran  down  to  the 
cliff  above  the  bathing-beach  and  looked  toward 
the  long  cape  at  the  end  of  which  lay  Malachi.  The 
dots  of  houses  showed  plainer  and  whiter  than 
usual  against  the  cape,  which  had  turned  of  a  deep 
slate-gray,  almost  black.  Two  or  three  ships  were  in 
sight,  but  they  were  large  ships  far  out  at  sea,  and 
the  strange  darkness  and  the  confusion  and  tumble 
of  the  waves,  which  every  instant  increased,  made  it 
difficult  to  detect  any  object  so  small  as  a  boat.  She 
was  just  turning  away,  when  a  sudden  gleam  of  light 
showed  what  seemed  to  be  a  tiny  sail  far  out  in  the 
bay,  but  it  disappeared  and,  at  the  same  moment,  a 
sudden,  violent  wind  swept  in  from  the  sea,  and  al- 
most threw  her  down.  She  caught  hold  of  a  sapling- 
stem  to  steady  herself,  and  held  tightly  till  the  gust 
passed.  Next  instant  came  a  great  roar  of  blinding 
rain,  and  she  was  forced  to  run  as  fast  as  she  could  to 
the  house.  It  took  but  two  minutes  to  reach  it;  but 
already  she  was  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  the  water 
was  running  in  streams  from  her  dress  and  the  braids 
of  her  hair. 

She  had  to  change  all  her  clothes.  As  she  sat  be- 
fore the  fire,  drying  her  hair  with  a  rough  towel,  she 


A   STORM  ON   THE   COAST.  209 

could  hear  the  rain  pouring  on  the  roof  with  a  noise 
like  thunder,  and  every  few  minutes  great  waves  of 
wind  surged  against  the  house,  making  it  shake  and 
tremble  till  the  rafters  creaked.  There  were  other 
sounds,  too,  —  odd  rattlings,  deep  hollow  notes  like 
groans,  and  a  throbbing  as  of  some  mighty  pulse,  — 
but  there  was  no  thunder ;  indeed  Eyebright  doubted 
if  she  could  have  heard  it  had  there  been  any,  so 
loud  was  the  tumult  of  noises. 

She  sat  by  the  fire  and  dried  her  hair  —  what  else 
was  there  to  do  ?  —  but  feeling  all  the  time  as  if  she 
ought  to  be  out  in  the  rain  helping  papa  somehow. 
The  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks ;  now  and  then  she 
wrung  her  hands  tightly,  and  said,  "  0  papa !  0 
papa ! "  Never  had  she  felt  so  little  and  helpless  and 
lost  in  all  her  life  before.  She  tried  to  say  a  prayer, 
but  it  seemed  to  her  just  then  that  God  could  not 
hear  a  weak,  small  voice  like  hers  through  such 
a  rage  of  storm.  She  could  not  realize  what  it 
would  have  been  such  a  comfort  to  feel,  —  that  God 
is  never  so  near  his  children  or  so  ready  to  listen, 
as  when  storms  are  wildest  and  they  need  him 
most.  And  so  she  sat,  till  by  and  by  the  clock 
struck   six,  and  made  her  jump   at  the   idea  that 


210  EYEBRIGHT. 

papa  might  come  in  soon  and  find  no  supper  ready 
for  him. 

"I  mustn't  let  that  happen,"  she  thought,  as,  with 
shaking  hands,  she  mended  the  fire,  laid  the  table, 
and  set  the  kettle  on  to  boil.  She  would  not  allow 
herself  to  question  the  fact  that  papa  would  come  — 
must  come,  though  he  might  be  a  little  late ;  and  she 
shaved  the  dried  beef,  broke  the  eggs,  and  sliced 
bread  for  toasting,  so  as  to  be  able  to  get  supper  as 
soon  as  possible  after  he  should  appear.  This  helped 
her  through  with  another  hour.  Still  no  sign  of 
papa,  and  still  the  storm  raged,  as  it  seemed,  more 
furiously  than  ever. 

Eight  o'clock,  nine  o'clock,  ten,  half-past  ten.  I 
don't  know  how  that  evening  passed.  It  seemed  as 
long  as  two  or  three  ordinary  days.  Many  times, 
thinking  she  heard  a  sound,  Eyebright  flew  to  the 
door,  but  only  to  come  back  disappointed.  At  last 
the  rain  slackened,  and,  unable  to  sit  still  any  longer, 
she  put  on  her  water-proof  and  India  rubbers,  tied  a 
hood  over  her  head,  and,  taking  a  lantern,  went 
down  to  the  cliff  again.  It  would  have  been  of  no 
use  to  carry  an  umbrella  in  that  wind,  and  the  night 
was  so  dark  that,  even  with  the  help  of  the  lantern, 


A   STORM   ON   THE   COAST.  211 

and  well  as  she  knew  the  path,  she  continually  wan- 
dered from  it,  and  struck  and  bruised  herself  against 
stumps  and  branches  which  there  was  not  light  to 
avoid. 

At  last  she  gained  the  top  of  the  bank  over  the 
beach.  The  sea  was  perfectly  black ;  she  could  see 
nothing  and  hear  nothing,  except  the  roar  of  waves 
and  the  rattle  of  the  shingle  below.  Suddenly  came 
a  flash  of  lightning.  It  lit  the  water  for  a  minute, 
and  revealed  a  dark  spot  which  might  be  a  boat 
borne  on  the  waves  a  little  way  out  from  shore. 
Eyebright  did  not  hesitate  an  instant,  but  tumbled 
and  scrambled  down  the  bank  at  once,  waving  the 
lantern,  and  crying,  "  Here  I  am,  papa !  this  way, 
papa!"  as  loud  as  she  could.  She  had  scarcely 
reached  the  beach,  when  another  flash  showed  the 
object  much  nearer.  Next  moment  came  a  great 
tumbling  wave,  and  out  of  the  midst  of  it  and  of  the 
darkness,  something  plunged  on  to  the  beach;  and 
then  came  the  lightning  again.  It  was  a  boat  —  and 
a  man  in  it. 

Eyebright  seized  and  held  with  all  her  might. 

"Oh,  hurry  and  get  out,  papa,"  she  cried;  foi 
though  she  could  not  see,  she  felt  another  wave  com* 
ing.     "  I  can't  keep  hold  but  a  minute." 


212  EYEBRIGHT. 

And  then  —  she  hardly  knew  how  it  happened  — 
the  man  did  get  out  —  tumble  out  rather  —  upon  the 
saiid ;  and,  as  she  let  go  the  boat  and  caught  hold 
of  him,  in  sped  the  wave  she  had  dreaded,  with  a 
loud  roar,  splashed  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  rolled 
back,  carrying  the  boat  with  it.  The  man  lay  on  the 
beach  as  if  unable  to  move,  but  by  the  sense  of 
touch,  as  well  as  the  dim  light  of  the  lantern.  Eye- 
bright  already  knew  that  it  was  not  papa,  but  a 
stranger,  whose  arm  she  clutched. 

"  Get  up,  oh,  do  get  up ! "  she  screamed.  "  You  '11 
be  drowned  if  you  don't.  Don't  you  see  that  you 
will?  Oh,  whatshallldo?" 

The  man  seemed  to  hear,  for  he  slowly  struggled 
up  to  his  feet,  but  he  did  not  speak.  It  was  terrible 
work  getting  him  up  the  cliff.  The  wind  in  furious 
moments  seemed  to  seize  and  pin  them  down,  and 
at  such  times  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
stand  still,  flatten  themselves  against  the  bank,  and 
wait  till  its  force  abated.  Eyebright  was  most 
thankful  when  at  last  they  reached  the  top.  She 
hurried  the  stranger  with  what  speed  she  could 
across  the  field  to  the  house,  keeping  the  path  better 
than  when  she  came  down,  because  the  light  in  the 


A    STORM   ON   THE   COAST.  213 

kitchen  window  now  served  lier  as  a  guide.  The 
man  stumbled  continually,  and  more  than  onoe 
almost  fell  down.  As  they  entered  the  kitchen  lie 
quite  fell,  and  lay  so  long  on  the  floor  as  to  frighten 
Eyebright  extremely.  She  had  never  seen  any  one 
faint,  and  she  feared  the  man  was  dead.  Not  know- 
ing in  the  least  what  she  ought  to  do,  she  ran  for  a 
pillow  to  lay  under  his  head,  covered  him  with 
a  blanket,  and  put  some  water  on  his  forehead. 
This  last  was  rather  unnecessary,  considering  his 
wet  condition,  but  Bessie  had  always  "  brought  to " 
the  Lady  Jane  in  that  way,  so  Eyebright  thought  it 
might  be  the  right  thing.  After  a  long  time,  she 
had  the  comfort  of  seeing  him  open  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  you  are  better;  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said. 
"  Do  try  to  get  into  the  rocking-chair.  The  floor  is 
so  hard.      Here,  I  will  help  you." 

And  she  took  hold  of  his  arm  for  the  purpose. 
He  winced  and  shrank. 

"Not  that  arm  —  don't  touch  that  arm,  please," 
he  said.  "  I  have  hurt  it  in  some  way.  It  feels  as 
if  it  were  broken." 

Then  very  slowly  and  painfully  he  got  up  from 
the  floor  and  into   the   rocking-chair   which   Eye* 


214  EYEBRIGHT. 

bright  had  covered  with  a  thick  comfortable  to 
make  it  softer.  She  made  haste  to  wet  the  tea,  and 
presently  brought  him  a  cup. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  faintly.  *'  You  are  very 
kind." 

She  could  see  his  face  now.  He  was  not  a  young 
man,  at  all.  His  hair  and  beard  were  gray,  and  he 
seemed  as  old  as  papa ;  but  he  was  so  wet  and  pale 
and  wild-looking  just  then,  that  it  was  not  easy  to 
judge  what  he  was  like.  His  voice  was  pleasant,  and 
she  did  not  feel  at  all  afraid  of  him.  The  tea  seemed 
to  revive  him  a  little,  for,  after  lying  quiet  a  while 
with  his  eyes  closed,  he  sat  up,  and,  fumbling  with  his 
left  hand  in  an  inner  pocket,  produced  a  flat  parcel 
tied  in  stout  paper,  with  a  direction  written  upon  it ; 
and,  beckoning  Eyebright  to  him,  said :  — 

"My  dear,  it  is  a  bad  night  to  ask  such  a  favor  in, 
and  I  don't  know  how  far  you  may  be  from  the  vil- 
lage ;  but  could  you  manage  to  send  this  over  to  the 
stage-office  at  once  ?  It  is  of  great  consequence  to 
me,  or  I  would  not  ask  it.  Have  you  a  hired  man  who 
could  go  ?  I  will  pay  him  handsomely  for  taking  it 
He  must  give  it  to  the  driver  of  the  stage  to  put  into 
the  express-office  at  Gillsworth,  and  take  a  receipt  foi 


A    STORM   ON   THE  COAST.  215 

it.  llease  ask  him  to  be  particular  about  that,  as  the 
parcel  has  money  in  it." 

"  We  haven't  any  hired  man/'  said  Eyebright.  "I  'm 
so  sorry,  sir.  But  even  if  we  had,  he  couldn't  get- 
across  for  ever  so  long." 

•'  Get  across  ? " 

"Yes;  this  is  an  island.  Didn't  you  know  that? 
We  can  walk  over  to  the  other  shore  at  low  tide ;  but 
the  tide  won't  be  low  till  after  five,  even  if  we  had  a 
man.     But  there  isn't  anybody  but  just  me." 

"  After  five,  —  and  the  mail  goes  out  at  six,"  mut- 
tered the  stranger.  "Then  I  must  manage  to  go 
myself." 

He  tried  to  get  up,  but  his  arm  fell  helplessly  by 
his  side,  he  groaned,  and  sank  back  again.  Presently, 
to  Eyebright's  terror,  he  began  to  talk  rapidly  to  him- 
self, not  to  her  at  all,  as  it  seemed. 

"  It  micst  go,"  he  said,  in  a  quick,  excited  way.  "  I 
don't  mind  what  I  pay  or  what  risk  I  run.  Do  you 
think  I'm  going  to  lose  every  thing?  —  lose  every 
thing  ?  —  other  people's  money  ?  —  "A  long  pause ; 
then,  "  What's  a  wetting  ? "  —  he  went  on,  in  a  loud 
tone  —  "  that  'b  nothing.  A  wetting !  —  my  good  name 
is  worth  more  than  money  to  me." 


216  EYEBRIGHT. 

He  was  silent  after  that  for  a  long  time.  Eye- 
bright  hoped  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  when  suddenly 
he  opened  his  eyes,  and  said,  imploringly :  "  Oh,  if  you 
knew  how  important  it  was,  you  would  make  haste. 
I  am  sure  you  would." 

He  did  not  say  much  more,  but  seemed  asleep,  or 
unconscious ;  only  now  and  then,  roused  for  a  moment, 
he  muttered  some  word  which  showed  him  to  be 
still  thinking  about  the  parcel,  and  the  necessity  for 
sending  it  to  the  office  immediately. 

Eyebright  put  another  blanket  round  him,  and 
fetched  a  chair  for  his  feet  to  rest  upon.  That 
seemed  all  she  could  do,  except  to  sit  and  watch  him, 
getting  up  occasionally  to  put  wood  on  the  fire,  or  going 
to  the  door  to  listen,  in  hopes  of  hearing  papa's  step 
in  the  path.  The  parcel  lay  on  the  table  where  the 
stranger  had  put  it.  She  looked  at  it,  and  looked  at 
it,  and  then  at  the  clock.  It  was  a  quarter  to  five. 
Again  the  broken,  dreamy  voice  muttered :  "  It  must 
go,  —  it  must  go."  A  sudden,  generous  impulse 
seized  her. 

"  I '11  take  it  myself!"  she  cried.  " Then  it  will  be 
sure  to  be  in  time.  And  I  can  come  back  when  papa 
does." 


A   STOBM  ON   THE   COAST.  217 

Poor  child,  so  sure  still  that  papa  must  come ! 

It  lacked  less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to 
low  water.  At  that  state  of  the  tide  the  causeway 
was  usually  pretty  bare;  but,  as  she  descended  the 
hill,  Eyebright,  even  in  the  darkness,  could  see  that 
it  was  not  nearly  bare  now.  She  could  hear  the  swish 
of  the  water  on  the  pebbles,  and,  by  the  light  of  her 
lantern,  caught  sight  of  more  than  one  long  wave 
sweeping  almost  up  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge.  She 
would  not  wait,  however,  but  set  bravely  forward. 
The  water  must  be  shallow,  she  knew,  and  fast  grow- 
ing more  so,  and  she  dared  not  delay ;  for  the  walk 
down  the  shore,  in  the  wind,  was  sure  to  be  a  long 
one,  "  I  mustn't  miss  the  stage,"  she  kept  saying,  to 
encourage  herself,  and  struck  in,  feeling  the  way  with 
the  point  of  her  umbrella,  and  holding  the  lantern 
low,  so  as  to  see  where  she  stepped.  The  water  was 
only  two  or  three  inches  deep,  —  less  than  that  in 
some  places ;  but  every  few  minutes  a  wave  would 
rush  across  and  bury  her  feet  above  the  ankles.  At 
such  times,  the  sand  would  seem  to  give  way  and  let 
her  down,  and  a  sense  of  sinking  and  being  carried  ofi 
would  seize  upon  her  and  take  away  all  her  strength. 
She  dared  not  move  at  these  moments,  but  stood  still, 
10 


218  EYEBRIGHT. 

dug  her  umbrella  into  the  sand,  and  waited  till  the 
water  ran  back. 

As  she  got  farther  from  the  island,  a  new  danger 
assailed  her.  It  was  the  wind,  of  which  she  now  felt 
the  full  force.  It  bent  and  swayed  her  about  till  she 
felt  like  a  plaything  in  its  grasp.  Once  it  caught  her 
skirts  and  blew  her  over  toward  the  deeper  water. 
This  was  the  most  dangerous  moment  of  all ;  but  she 
struggled  back,  and  the  gust  relaxed  its  grasp.  More 
than  once  the  fury  of  the  blast  was  so  great  that  she 
dared  not  stand  upright,  but  crouched  on  the  wet  sand, 
and  made  herself  as  flat  as  possible,  tiU  it  passed  by. 
Oh,  how  she  wished  herself  back  at  home  again.  But 
going  back  was  as  dangerous  as  going  forward,  and 
she  kept  on,  firm  in  her  purpose  still,  though  drenched, 
terrified,  and  half  crying,  till,  little  by  little,  wet  sand 
instead  of  water  was  under  her  feet,  the  waves 
sounded  behind  instead  of  immediately  beside  her, 
and  at  last,  stumbling  over  a  clump  of  blueberry 
bushes,  she  fell  forward  on  her  knees  upon  the  othei 
shore,  —  a  soggy,  soaked,  disagreeable  shore  enough, 
but  a  most  welcome  sight  just  then. 

So  tired  and  spent  was  she,  that  for  some  minutes 
she  lay  under  the  blueberry  clump  before  she  could 


A   STOBM   ON  THE   COAST.  219 

gathoT  strength  to  pull  herself  up  and  go  on.  It  was 
a  very  hard  and  painful  walk,  and  the  wind  and  tho 
darkness  did  all  they  could  to  keep  her  back ;  but  the 
gallant  little  heart  did  not  fail,  and,  at  last,  just  as 
the  first  dim  dawn  was  breaking,  she  gained  the  vil- 
lage and  Mr.  Downs's  door. 

Mrs.  Downs  had  been  up  nearly  all  night,  so 
great  was  her  anxiety  for  Captain  Jim  and  Mr.  Bright. 
She  had  just  fallen  asleep  in  her  clothes,  when  she 
was  roused  by  a  knock. 

"  That 's  them  at  last,''  she  cried,  jumping  up,  and 
hurrying  to  the  door. 

Great  was  her  surprise  at  the  little  soaked  figure 
which  met  her  eyes,  and  greater  still  when  she  recog- 
nized Eyebright. 

**  Why,  what  in  the  name  of —  why  ! "  was  all  she 
could  say  at  first.  Then,  regaining  her  wits,  "  Eye- 
bright,  my  dear  child,  what  has  fetched  you  out  at 
this  hour  of  day ;  and  massy's  sake,  how  did  you 
come  ? " 

"I  came  on  the  causeway.  Oh,  Mrs.  Downs,  is 
papa  here  ?  ** 

"  Over  the  causeway ! "  cried  Mrs.  Downs.  "  Good 
land  alive!    What  possessed  you  to  do  such  a  foo) 


220  EYEBRIGHT. 

hardy  thing  ?  I  only  wonder  you  were  not  drowned 
outright/' 

"So  do  I.  I  was  almost.  But,  Mrs.  Downs,  is 
papa  here  ?     Oh,  do  tell  me." 

"Xo,  they  haven't  got  in  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Downs, 
affecting  an  ease  and  security  which  she  did  not  feel. 
"  The  storm  has  delayed  them,  or,  what  *s  more  likely, 
they  never  started  at  all,  and  will  be  over  to-day.  I 
guess  that  '11  turn  out  to  be  the  way  of  it.  Jim  's  got 
too  good  sense  to  put  out  in  the  teeth  of  a  heavy 
squaU  like  this  has  been.  An'  he  must  ha'  seen  it 
was  a-comin'.  But,  my  dear,  how  wet  you  are  !  And 
what  did  make  you  do  such  a  crazy  thing  as  to  set 
out  over  the  causeway  in  such  weather  ? " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  with  a  sob.  "  There 's  a  poor 
man  up  at  our  house,  Mrs.  Downs.  He  came  in  a 
boat,  and  was  'most  drowned,  and  he 's  hurt  his  arm 
dreadfully,  and  1  'm  afraid  he  's  very  sick  beside ;  and 
he  wanted  this  parcel  to  go  by  the  stage-driver.  He 
said  it  must  go,  it  was  something  very  important.  So 
I  brought  it.  The  stage  hasn't  gone  yet,  has  it  ?  I 
wanted  so  much  to  be  in  time." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  cried  Mrs.  Downs,  furiously. 
"  He  must  be  a  pretty  man  to  send  you  across  the  bar 


A   STORM   ON    THE   COAST.  221 

ID  the  night  and  sucli  a  storm,  to  fetch  his  mail.  I  'd 
like  to  throw  it  right  straight  in  the  water,  that  I 
would,  and  serve  him  right.     The  idea !" 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  mean  that  I  should  go,  —  he  didn't 
know  any  thing  about  it,"  protested  Eyebright.  "  He 
asked  me  to  send  our  hired  man,  and  when  I  told  him 
we  hadn't  any  hired  man,  he  said  then  he  would 
come  himself;  but  he  was  too  sick.  He  said  such 
queer  things  that  I  was  frightened.  And  then  he 
went  to  sleep,  and  I  came.  Please  tell  me  what  time 
it  is ;  I  must  go  to  the  office  right  away." 

"  Indeed  you  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Downs.  "  You  '11 
come  straight  upstairs  and  go  to  bed.  I  '11  wake  him 
up.  He  '11  take  it.  There  's  plenty  of  time.  'T  isn't 
six  yet,  and  the  stage  '11  be  late  this  morning,  I  '11 
bet." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  to  bed ;  I  must  go  back  to  the 
island,"  Eyebright  pleaded.  "  The  man  who  came  is 
all  alone  there,  and  you  can't  think  how  sick  he  is." 

"Poor  man  or  not,  you'll  go  to  bed,"  said  Mrs. 
Downs,  inexorably,  helping  the  tired  child  upstairs. 
"Me  and  Mr.  Downs '11  see  to  the  poor  man.  You 
ain't  needed  to  carry  the  hull  world  on  your  back  as 
long  as  there  's  any  grown  folks  left,  you  poor  little 


222  EYEBRIGHT. 

mite.  Go  to  bed  and  sleep,  and  we  11  look  after  youi 
man." 

Eyebright  was  too  tired  to  resist. 

"  Oh,  please  ask  Mr.  Downs  to  take  a  receipt,  the 
man  was  so  particular  about  that,"  was  her  only  pro- 
test. 

She  fell  asleep  the  moment  her  head  touched  the 
pillow,  and  knew  nothing  more  till  after  noon,  when 
she  opened  her  eyes,  feeling  for  a  moment  entirely 
bewildered  as  to  where  she  was.  Then,  as  it  all  came 
back  to  her  mind,  she  jumped  up  in  a  hurry.  Her 
clothes,  nicely  dried,  lay  on  a  chair  beside  the  bed. 
She  hurried  them  on,  and  ran  downstairs. 

Nobody  was  visible  except  little  Benny,  who  told 
her  that  his  mother  had  ''gone  along  up  to  the 
island." 

"  She  said  you  was  to  eat  some  breakfast,"  he  added. 
"  It 's  in  the  oven  a-keepin'  warm.  Shall  I  show  you 
where  it  is  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  cried  Eyebright.  "  Never  mind 
about  breakfast,  Benny.     I  don't  feel  hungry." 

" Ma  said  you  must"  declared  Benny,  opening  the 
oven  door  and  disclosing  a  plate  full  of  something  very 
dry  and  black.     "  Oh,  dear,  it 's  all  got  burned  up." 


A   STORM   ON   THE   COAST.  223 

"  I  '11  drink  some  milk  instead,"  said  Eyebright 
'*  Who 's  that  coming  up  the  road,  Benny  ? " 

"  It  *s  Pa.  I  guess  he  's  come  back  to  get  you," 
said  Benny,  running  out  to  meet  him. 

Mr.  Downs  had  come  to  fetch  Eyebright.  He 
looked  very  grave,  she  thought. 

When  she  asked  eagerly,  had  papa  come  yet,  Mr. 
Downs  shook  his  head.  Perhaps  they  had  stayed 
over  in  Malachi,  to  avoid  the  storm,  he  said,  and 
would  get  in  later.  He  helped  Eyebright  into  the 
boat,  and  rowed  to  the  island  without  saying  another 
word.  The  wind  had  abated,  but  the  sea  was  still 
very  rough,  and  long  lines  of  white  surf  were  break- 
ing on  the  rocks  and  beaches. 

The  kitchen  looked  very  queer  and  crowded,  foi 
Mr.  Downs  had  brought  down  a  mattress  from  upstairs, 
and  made  a  bed  on  the  floor,  upon  which  Eyebright's 
"  man  "  was  now  sleeping.  His  wet  clothes  had  been 
changed  for  some  dry  ones  belonging  to  Mr.  Bright, 
and,  altogether,  he  looked  far  less  wild  and  forlorn 
than  he  had  appeared  to  be  the  night  before,  though 
he  evidently  was  seriously  ill.  Mrs.  Downs  didn't 
think  his  arm  was  broken ;  but  she  couldn't  be  sure, 
and  "  he  "  was  sent  up  the  shore  to  fetch  Dr.  Treaty 


224  EYEBRIGHT. 

the  "  natural  bone-settei  "  There  was  no  regular  doc- 
tor at  Scrapplehead. 

The  natural  bone-setter  pronounced  the  arm  not 
broken,  but  badly  cut  and  bruised,  and  the  shoulder 
dislocated  He  tied  it  up  with  a  liniment  of  his  own 
invention,  but  both  fever  and  rheumatism  followed, 
and  for  some  days  the  stranger  tossed  in  pain  and  de- 
lirium. Mrs.  Downs  stayed  on  the  island  to  nurse 
him,  and  both  she  and  Eyebright  had  their  hands 
full,  which  was  well,  for  it  helped  them  to  endure  the 
suspense  of  the  next  week  as  nothing  else  could  have 
done. 

It  was  not  for  some  time,  even  after  that  dreadful 
week,  that  they  gave  up  the  hope  that  Captain  Jim 
had  waited  over  in  Malachi  and  would  appear  with 
the  next  fair  wind.  Then  a  sloop  put  in,  bringing 
the  certain  news  that  he  and  Mr.  Bright  had  sailed 
about  two  hours  before  the  storm  began.  After  that, 
the  only  chance  —  and  that  a  vague  one  —  was,  that 
the  boat  might  have  landed  on  the  coast  farther  be- 
low, or,  blown  out  to  sea,  been  picked  up  by  some 
passing  ship.  Days  passed  in  this  hope.  Whenever 
Eyebright  could  be  spared  for  a  moment,  she  always 
ran  to  the  cliff  on  the  sea-side,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 


A   STOBM   ON   THE   COAST.  225 

a  ship  sailing  in  with  papa  on  board,  or  news  of  him. 
She  never  spoke  as  if  there  was  any  doubt  that  he 
would  come  in  the  end,  and  Mrs.  Downs,  dreading  to 
cloud  her  hopefulness,  replied  always  as  confidently  as 
she  could,  and  tried  to  be  hopeful,  too. 

So  a  fortnight  passed  over  the  busy,  anxious  house- 
hold, and  poor  Eyebright  —  though  her  words  w^ere 
still  courageous  —  was  losing  heart,  and  had  begun  to 
feel  that  a  cold,  dreadful  wave  of  sorrow  was  poising 
itself  a  little  way  off,  and  might  presently  break  all 
over  her,  when,  one  day,  as  she  stood  by  the  bedside 
of  their  patient,  —  much  better  now  and  quite  in  his 
senses,  —  he  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  start  of 
recognition,  and  said :  — 

"  Why,  I  know  you.  You  are  Mr.  Bright's  little 
girl,  —  are  you  not  ?  You  are  Eyebright !  Why  did 
I  not  recognize  you  before  ?  Don't  you  recollect  me 
at  all  ?    Don't  you  know  who  I  am  ? " 

And,  somehow,  the  words  and  the  pleasant  tone  of 
voice,  and  the  look  which  accompanied  them  made  him 
look  different,  all  at  once,  to  the  child,  and  natural, 
and. Eyebright  did  know  him. 

It  was  Mr.  Joyce  ! 

10«  o 


226  EYEBRIGHT. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

TRANSPLANTED. 

|T  is  strange  that  I  did  not  recognize  you 
before,"  said  Mr.  Joyce  next  day  ;  "  and 
yet  not  so  strange  either,  for  you  have 
grown  and  altered  very  much  since  we  met,  two 
years  and  a  half  ago." 

He  might  well  say  so.  Eyebright  had  altered  very 
much.  She  was  as  tall  as  Mrs.  Downs  now,  and  the 
fatigue  and  anxiety  of  the  last  fortnight  had  robbed 
her  of  her  childish  look  and  made  her  seem  older 
than  she  really  was.  Any  one  might  have  taken  her 
for  a  girl  of  seventeen,  instead  of  fourteen-and-a-half. 
She  and  Mr.  Joyce  had  had  several  long  talks,  during 
which  he  learned  all  about  their  leaving  Tunxet,  about 
her  anxiety  for  her  father,  and,  for  the  first  time,  the 
full  story  of  the  eventful  night  which  had  brought 
him  to  Causey  Island.  He  was  greatly  startled  and 
shocked  when  he  comprehended  what  danger  Eye- 
bright  had  run  in  doing  his  errand  to  the  village. 


TRANSPLANTED.  227 

"My  dear,  dear  child,"  he  said;  ''you  did  me  a 
service  I  shall  never  forget.  I  could  never  have  for- 
given myself  had  you  lost  your  life  in  doing  it.  If  I 
Iiad  had  my  senses  about  me  I  would  not  have  let 
you  go ;  pray  believe  that.  That  unlucky  parcel  came 
near  to  costing  more  than  it  *s  worth,  for  it  was  on  its 
account  that  I  set  out  to  row  over  from  Malachi  that 
afternoon." 

"  To  take  the  stage  ? "  suggested  Eyebright^ 

"  Yes  —  to  catch  the  stage.  The  parcel  had  money 
in  it,  and  it  was  of  great  consequence  that  it  should 
reach  Atterbury  —  where  I  live  —  as  soon  as  possible. 
You  look  curious,  as  if  you  wanted  to  hear  more. 
You  like  stories  still,  I  see.  I  remember  how  you 
begged  me  to  tell  you  one  that  night  in  Tunxet." 

"  Yes,  I  like  them  dearly.  But  I  hardly  ever 
hear  any  now.  There  is  no  one  up  here  to  loll 
them." 

"  Well,  this  isn't  much  of  a  story,  or  rather  it 
would  be  a  long  one  enough  if  I  gave  the  whole  of  it ; 
but  the  part  which  I  can  tell  isn't  much.  Once  upon  a 
time  there  was  a  thief,  and  he  stole  a  quantity  of 
money  out  of  a  bank.  It  was  the  Atterbury  Bank, 
of  which  I  am  the  president.     The  theft  came  at  the 


228  EYEBRIGHT. 

worst  possible  time,  and  there  was  great  danger,  if  the 
money  could  not  be  recovered,  that  the  bank  would 
have  to  stop  payment.  Fortunately,  we  got  a  clue  to 
the  thief's  whereabouts,  and  I  started  in  search  of 
him,  and  caught  him  in  a  little  village  in  Canada 
where  he  had  hidden  himself  away,  and  was  feeling 
quite  safe  —    What  makes  you  look  so  excited  ?  " 

"It  is  so  interesting,"  said  Eyebright.  "Weren't 
you  a  bit  afraid  when  you  saw  him  ?  Did  he  have  a 
pistol?" 

"  Pistol  ?  No.  Ah,  you  are  thinking  of  the  thieves 
in  story-books,  I  see,  —  terrible  villains  with  masks 
and  blunderbusses.  The  kind  we  have  nowadays  are 
quite  different,  —  pretty  young  men,  with  nice  mus- 
taches and  curly  hair,  who  are  very  particular  about 
the  fit  of  their  gloves  and  what  kind  of  cigars  they 
smoke.  That's  the  sort  who  make  off  wdth  bank 
money.  This  thief  of  ours  was  a  young  fellow,  only 
a  few  years  older  than  my  Charley,  whom  I  had 
known  all  my  life,  and  his  father  before  him.  I 
would  a  great  deal  rather  have  had  it  one  of  the  old- 
fashioned  kind  with  a  blunderbuss.  Well,  I  found 
him,  and  1  got  back  the  money — the  bulk  of  it. 
A  part  he  had  spent     Having  secured  it,  my  first 


TRANSPLANTED.  229 

fchoaglit  was  ho  .v  to  get  home  quickest,  for  every  day*a 
delay  made  a  great  difference  to  the  bank.  I  had  just 
time  to  drive  over  and  catch  the  Portland  steamer, 
but  my  wagon  broke  down  six  miles  from  Malachi; 
and  when  I  got  in  she  had  been  gone  an  hour  and  a 
half.  I  made  inquiries,  and  found  that  the  Scrapple- 
head  stage  started  next  morning,  so  I  hired  a  boat 
and  undertook  to  row  across.  It  was  not  storming 
then.  The  man  who  let  the  boat  did  say  that  the 
weather  looked  'kind  of  unsartin,*  but  I  could  see 
no  change ;  it  was  thick  and  murky,  but  it  had  been 
that  for  days  back,  and  I  was  in  such  haste  to  get  in, 
that  I  should  probably  have  tried  it  had  it  looked 
worse  than  it  did.  The  distance  is  not  great,  and  I 
am  used  to  rowing.  Only  God's  mercy  saved  me 
from  capsizing  when  the  first  squall  struck  the  boat. 
After  that,  I  have  only  confused  memories.  All  I 
could  do  was  to  keep  the  boat  head  on  to  the  waves, 
and  it  was  so  intensely  dark  that  I  could  see  nothing. 
I  must  have  been  rowing  for  hours  in  the  blackness, 
without  the  least  idea  where  I  was  or  which  way  I 
was  going,  when  I  saw  a  light  moving  toward  me. 
That,  from  what  you  say,  must  have  been  your  lan- 
tern.    I  had  just  strength  left  to  pull  toward  it,  and 


230  EYEBRIGHT. 

the  waves  carried  me  on  to  the  beach.  My  arm  waa 
all  right  then.  I  must  have  hurt  it  when  I  fell  over 
the  side  of  the  boat.  It  was  a  miraculous  escape, 
and  I  believe  that  I  owe  my  life  to  the  fact  of  your 
coming  down  as  you  did.  I  shall  never  forget  that, 
Eyebright." 

People  often  say  such  things  in  the  warm-hearted- 
ness of  a  great  deliverance  from  danger,  or  recovery 
from  sickness,  and  when  they  get  well  again,  or  the 
danger  fades  from  their  minds,  they  cool  off  a  little. 
But  Mr.  Joyce  did  not  cool ;  he  meant  all  he  said. 
And  very  soon  after  came  the  opportunity  of  proving 
his  sincerity,  for  the  great  wave  of  trouble,  which 
Eyebright  had  dimly  felt  and  dreaded,  broke  just  then 
and  fell  upon  her.  The  boat  in  which  Captain  Jim 
Downs  and  her  father  had  sailed  was  picked  up  fai 
down  the  coast,  floating  bottom  upward,  and  no 
doubt  remained  that  both  had  lost  their  lives  in  the 
storm  of  that  dreadful  night. 

How  the  poor  child  could  have  borne  this  terrible 
news  without  Mr.  Joyce  at  hand  to  help  her,  I  can- 
not imagine.  She  was  almost  broken-hearted,  and 
grew  so  thin  and  pale  that  it  was  pitiful  to  see.  Her 
Borrow  was  all  for  papa ;  she  did  not  realize  as  yet 


TRANSPLANTED.  2151 

the  loss  which  had  fallen  on  herself;  but  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  in  the  world  a  little  girl  left  in  a 
more  desolate  position.  In  losing  papa  she  lost  every 
thing  that  she  had  —  home,  protection,  support. 
Nobody  wanted  her ;  she  belonged  to  nobody.  She 
i*,ould  not  stay  on  the  island ;  she  could  not  go  back 
to  Tunxet ;  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  —  unless 
it  was  Wealthy  —  to  whom  she  had  the  right  to  go 
for  help  or  advice ;  and  Wealthy  herself  was  a  poor 
woman,  with  little  in  her  power  to  give  except  advice. 
Eyebright  instinctively  dreaded  the  idea  of  meeting 
Wealthy,  for  she  knew  that  Wealthy  would  think  if 
she  did  not  say  it,  that  it  was  all  papa's  fault ;  that 
he  ought  never  to  have  taken  her  to  Maine,  and  the 
thought  of  having  papa  blamed  hurt  her  terribly. 
These  anxieties  as  yet  were  all  swallowed  up  in  grief 
for  papa,  but  whenever  she  happened  to  think  about 
herself,  her  mind  grew  perfectly  bewildered  and  she 
could  not  in  the  least  see  what  she  was  to  do. 

And  now  what  a  comfort  Mr.  Joyce  was  to  her ! 
He  was  nearly  well  now,  and  in  a  great  hurry  to  get 
back  to  his  business  ;  but  nothing  would  have  induced 
him  to  leave  the  poor  child  in  such  trouble,  and  he 
stayed  on  and  on,  devoting  himself  to  her  all  day  lon^ 


2S2  EYEBRIGHT. 

soothing  her,  telling  her  sweet  things  about  heaven 
and  God's  goodness  and  love,  letting  her  talk  as  much 
as  she  liked  of  papa,  and  not  trying  even  to  check  the 
crying  which  such  talks  always  brought  on.  Eye- 
bright  responded  to  this  kindness  with  all  her  warm 
little  heart.  She  learned  to  love  Mr.  Joyce  dearly, 
and  turned  to  him  and  clung  to  him  as  if  he  had  been 
a  friend  always  instead  of  for  a  few  days  only.  But 
all  this  time  her  future  remained  unsettled,  and  she 
was  at  the  same  time  too  inexperienced  and  too  much 
oppressed  with  sorrow  to  be  able  to  think  about  it  or 
make  any  plans. 

Other  people  were  thinking  about  it,  howevei. 
Mrs.  Downs  talked  the  matter  over  with  her  husband, 
and  told  Mr.  Joyce  that "  He  "  was  willing  she  should 
take  Eyebright,  provided  her  folks,  if  she  had  any, 
would  consent  to  have  her  "  bound  "  to  them  till  she 
was  of  age.  They  never  had  kept  "help,"  and  she 
didn't  need  any  now ;  it  wasn't  for  that  she  wanted 
the  child,  and  as  for  the  binding  out,  'twasn't  nothing 
but  a  formality,  only  Mr.  Downs  was  made  that  way, 
and  liked  to  have  things  done  regular  and  legal.  He 
set  store  by  Eyebright,  just  as  she  did  herself,  and 
they  'd  see  that  she  had  a  comfortable  home  and  was 


TRANSPLANTED.  233 

well  treated  in  every  way.  Mrs.  Downs  meant  kindly, 
but  Mr.  Joyce  had  other  schemes  for  Eyebright.  As 
soon  as  the  fact  of  her  father's  death  became  certain, 
he  had  written  to  his  wife,  and  he  only  waited  an 
answer  to  propose  his  plan.  It  came  at  last,  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  read  it,  he  went  in  search  of  Eyebright, 
who  was  sitting,  as  she  often  did  now,  on  the  bank 
over  the  bathing-beach,  looking  sorrowfully  off  toward 
the  sea. 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  home,"  he  said,  sitting  dowu 
beside  her,  "  and  I  find  that  I  must  go  back  at  once, 
—  day  after  to-morrow  at  latest." 

"  Oh,  must  you  ? "  said  Eyebright,  in  a  voice  which 
sounded  like  a  sob.  She  hid  her  face  on  his  arm  as 
she  spoke,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  ciying. 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  cry,  my  dear  child.  I  don't  mean 
to  leave  you  here  alone.  That  is  not  my  plan  at  all. 
I  want  you  to  come  with  me.  Long  ago,  I  wrote  to 
my  wife  to  propose  this  plan,  and  I  only  waited  to 
hear  from  her  before  telling  you  about  it.  Will  you 
come  and  live  with  us,  Eyebright  ?  I  can*t  take  your 
father's  place  to  you,  —  nobody  could  do  that,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  right  they  should ;  but  we  '11  all  do  our  best 
to  make  you  happy  and  at  home,  and  you  shall  b€ 


234  EYEBRIGHT. 

just  like  our  own  girl  if  you  '11  come.  What  do  you 
say,  my  dear  ?     Will  you  ? " 

"  How  kind  —  how  kind  you  are  ! "  replied  Eyebright, 
in  a  dazed,  wondering  way.  "  I  can't  think  what 
makes  you  so  good  to  me,  dear  Mr.  Joyce.  Bat  do 
you  think  I  ought  to  come  ?  I  'm  afraid  I  should  be 
troublesome.  Wealthy  used  to  say  *  that  other  folks's 
children  always  were  troublesome,'  and  that  it  was 
mean  to  '  settle  down '  on  people." 

"^N'ever  mind  Wealthy  or  her  maxims,"  said  Mr. 
Joyce,  with  a  smile.  "  We  '11  risk  your  being  trouble- 
some, Eyebright.     Will  you  come  ? " 

"Do  you  think  papa  would  have  wished  to  have 
me  ? "  asked  Eyebright,  wistfully.  "  There 's  nobody 
for  me  to  ask  now  except  you,  you  know.  Pa.pa 
always  hated  *  being  under  obligations'  to  people.  If 
I  stay  with  Mrs.  Downs,"  she  added,  timidly,  "  I  can 
work  and  help  her,  and  then  I  shan't  be  a  burden. 
I  'm  afraid  there  isn't  any  thing  I  can  do  to  help  if 
I  go  with  you." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Downs  has  told  you  of  her  plan,  has 
she,"  said  Mr.  Joyce,  half  vexed.  "Now,  listen, 
my  child.  I  do  really  and  seriously  think  tliat 
your  father,  were  he  here,   would  prefer  that  you 


TRANSPLANTED.  285 

eiiould  go  with  me.  If  you  stay  with  Mrs.  Downs, 
you  must  give  up  your  education  entirely.  She  is 
a  kind  woman  and  really  fond  of  you,  I  think; 
but  with  her  you  can  have  no  advantages  of  any 
sort,  and  no  chance  to  fit  yourself  for  any  higher 
sort  of  work  than  house-work.  With  me  you  will 
have  the  opportunity  of  going  to  an  excellent  school, 
and,  if  you  do  your  best,  by  the  time  you  are  twenty- 
one  you  will  be  able  to  teach,  and  support  yourself  in 
that  way,  if  it  becomes  necessary.  And,  my  dear, 
you  are  mistaken  in  thinking  that  there  is  nothing 
you  can  do  to  help  us.  We  have  never  had  a  daugh- 
ter, but  we  always  have  wished  for  one.  My  wife 
and  I  are  getting  on  in  life,  and  there  are  lots  of 
ways  in  which  a  young  girl  will  cheer  and  brighten 
us  up,  and  help  to  make  the  house  pleasant  for 
Charley.  It  is  dull  for  a  boy  with  no  sisters,  and 
only  an  old  father  and  mother.  So,  you  see,  we 
really  are  in  need  of  a  girl,  and  you  are  just  the  girl 
we  need.     So,  will  you  come  ? '' 

"Oh,  I'll  come  gladly!"  cried  Eyebright,  yielding 
to  the  pleasantness  of  the  thought.  "  I  'd  rather  live 
with  you  than  anybody  else  in  the  world,  Mr.  Joyces 
if  only  you  are  sure  it  is  right." 


236  EYEBRIGHT. 

It  was   settled   from   that  moment,  though  Eye 
bright  still  felt  a  little  qualm  of  shyness  and  fear  at 
the   thought   of  the  unknown  Mrs.  Joyce.     "  How 
horrible  it  would  be  if  she  didn't  like  me  when  I 
get  there  ! "  she  said  to  herself 

Only  one  more  day  at  Causey  Island,  and  that  a 
very  busy  and  confused  one.  The  little  house, 
which  it  had  taken  so  many  days  to  get  in  order, 
was  all  pulled  to  pieces  and  dismantled  in  a  few 
hours.  Some  things,  such  as  papa's  desk,  and  Eye- 
bright' s  own  special  chair,  Mr.  Joyce  ordered  packed, 
and  sent  after  them  to  Atterbury ;  the  rest  were  left 
to  be  sold,  or  perhaps  let  wdth  the  cottage,  if  any  one 
should  hire  it.  Several  articles,  at  his  suggestion, 
Eyebright  gave  to  Mrs.  Downs,  and  she  gratified 
Mr.  Downs  extremely  by  making  him  a  present  of 
the  boat. 

"You  couldn't  have  done  nothing  to  please  me 
better,"  he  said.  "  It  '11  come  real  handy  to  have 
another  boat,  and  we  shall  think  a  heap  of  its  being 
yours.  And,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  we  '11  just  change 
its  name,  and  call  it  'The  Eyebright,'  after  you.  The 
first  spare  day  I  get,  I'll  paint  the  name  on  the 
stern,  so's  we  '11  always  be  reminded  of  you  whenever 
we  see  it." 


TBANSPLANTED.  237 

This  was  quite  a  flight  of  fancy  for  Mr.  Downs. 

By  sunset  the  house  was  cleared  of  all  that  was 
to  be  taken  away,  and  Eyebright's  trunk  packed  and 
locked.  A  very  little  trunk  it  was,  and  all  it  held 
very  old  and  shabby.  Even  Mrs.  Downs  shook  her 
head  and  said  the  things  were  hardly  worth  taking ; 
but  Eyebright  didn't  much  mind.  Her  head  wa^ 
full  of  other  thoughts,  and,  beside,  she  had  learned 
to  rely  on  Mr.  Joyce  as  a  helper  out  of  all  diffi- 
culties, and  she  was  content  to  leave  herself  and  hex 
future  wants  to  him. 

So,  at  early  dawning  of  the  third  day,  they  left 
the  island,  rowing  down  to  the  village  in  the  newly 
christened  "Eyebright,"  now  the  property  of  Mr. 
Downs.  The  good-byes  had  been  taken  the  evening 
before,  and  Eyebright  did  not  turn  her  head,  as  they 
glided  away,  to  look  at  the  green  tufted  shore  or  the 
blue  sea,  bluer  than  ever  in  the  calm  hush  of  a 
cloudless  sunrise.  Very  steadily  and  carefully  she 
rowed,  dipping  her  oars,  and  "feathering,"  as  papa 
had  taught  her,  as  if  only  intent  on  doing  her  task 
as  well  as  possible  for  this  the  last  time.  But  later, 
after  they  reached  the  village,  when  the  farewells 
had  all  been  spoken,  the  Downs  family  kissed,  and 


238  EYEBRIGHT. 

herself  and  Mr.  Joyce  were  in  the  stage-wagon  ready 
to  start,  she  turned  again  for  one  moment,  and  her 
eyes  sought  out  the  blue-green  outline  which  they 
knew  so  well.  There  it  lay,  with  the  calm  waters 
all  about  it,  the  home  which  had  been  at  the  same 
time  so  hard  and  so  pleasant,  and  was  now  so  sad. 
Tears  rushed  to  her  eyes  as  she  gazed,  and  she 
whispered  to  herself  so  softly  that  no  one  else  could 
hear,  "  Good-by.     Good-by,  papa." 

How  strange  and  yet  how  familiar,  the  road 
seemed  1  —  the  very  road  over  which  she  and  papa 
had  passed  less  than  two  years  before.  It  was  the 
one  journey  of  her  life,  and  she  recollected  every  thing 
perfectly.  There  was  the  nameless  village,  looking 
exactly  the  same,  but  no  longer  nameless ;  for  a  wooden 
board  was  suspended  over  the  steamboat  landing,  with 
"  Pocobasset  "  painted  upon  it  in  large  letters.  Pretty 
soon  the  steamboat  came  along,  the  same  identical 
steamboat,  and  down  the  river  they  went,  past  all 
the  tiny  islands  and  wooded  capes  which  she  re- 
membered so  well ;  only  the  light  was  of  sunset  now 
instead  of  sun-rising,  and  the  trees,  which  then  were 
tinged  with  coming  spring,  now  bore  the  red  and  yel- 
low leaves  of  autumn.     There  was  the  erood-natured 


TRANSPLANTED.  289 

Stewardess  and  the  captain,  —  nobody  was  changed,  — 
nothing  had  happened,  as  it  seemed,  except  to  her- 
self. 

They  left  the  boat,  very  early  in  the  morning,  at 
a  point  some  fifty  miles  short  of  that  from  which  she 
and  papa  had  embarked,  and,  travelling  all  day, 
I  cached  Atterbury  late  on  the  second  afternoon. 
Eyebright  had  plenty  of  time  to  recall  her  dread  of 
Mrs.  Joyce  as  they  drove  up  from  the  station.  The 
town  was  large  and  thriving,  and  looked  like  a  pleas- 
ant one.  There  were  many  white-painted,  green- 
blinded  houses,  with  neat  court-yards,  of  the  kind 
always  to  be  found  in  New  England  villages;  but 
among  these  appeared,  here  and  there,  a  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  mansion ;  and  the  elm-shaded  streets  gave 
glimpses  of  pretty  country  beyond,  woodlands,  culti- 
vated valley-lands,  and  an  encircling  line  of  hills 
with  softly  rounded  outlines.  Eyebright  thought  it 
a  delightful-looking  place.  They  drew  up  before  a 
wide,  ample  house,  whose  garden  blazed  with  late 
flowers,  and  Mr.  Joyce,  lifting  her  out,  hurried  up 
the  gravel  walk,  she  following  timidly,  threw  open 
the  front  door,  and  called  loudly  :  "  Mother !  Mother  1 
where  are  you,  Mother?" 


240  EYEBRIGHT. 

At  the  call,  a  stout  little  lady,  in  a  pink-ribboned 
cap,  hurried  out  of  a  room  at  one  side  of  the  hall. 

**  Oh,  Benjamin,  is  it  really  you  ?  My  dear  hus- 
band. Well,  I  am  glad ; "  and  she  gave  him  such  a 
kiss.  Then,  turning  to  Eyebright,  she  said  in  the 
kindest  voice,  — 

"  And  this  is  your  little  girl,  is  it  ?  Why,  Benja- 
min, she  is  taller  than  I  am !  My  dear,  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you ;  very  glad,  indeed.  Father  says  you 
are  his  girl ;  but  you  must  be  mine,  too,  and  learn  to 
love  the  old  lady  just  as  fast  as  you  can." 

Was  not  this  a  delightful  reception  for  a  weary, 
journey-stained  little  traveller  ?  Eyebright  returned 
the  kiss  with  one  equally  warm,  and  all  her  fears  of 
Mrs.  Joyce  fled  for  ever. 

"You  shall  go  right  upstairs,"  said  this  new 
friend;  "tea  will  be  ready  soon,  and  I  know  you 
are  longing  for  some  cold  water  to  wash  off  the  dust. 
It 's  the  most  refreshing  thing  always  after  a  journey." 

She  led  the  way,  and  left  Eyebright  to  herself  in 
a  little  bedroom.  Such  a  pretty  bedroom  it  was ! 
Eyebright  felt  sure  at  once  that  it  had  been  got 
ready  expressly  for  herself.  It  was  just  such  a 
room  as  a  young  girl  fancies,  with  a  dainty  white 


TRANSPLANTED.  24J 

beJ,  white  curtains  at  the  window,  a  white-frilled 
toilet-table,  and  on  the  toilet-table  a  smart  blue 
pincushion,  with  "  Welcome "  stuck  upon  it  in 
shining  pins.  Even  the  books  on  the  table  seemed 
to  have  been  chosen  to  suit  her  taste,  for  there  lay 
"The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest;"  "The  Wide 
Wide  World;"  "The  Daisy  Chain,"  in  two  fat 
blue  volumes;  and  Mrs.  Whitney's  charming  tale 
of  "We  Girls.''  She  peeped  at  one  title  after  an- 
other with  a  little  jump  of  satisfaction.  How 
long,  how  very  long  it  was  since  she  had  had  a 
new  story-book  to  read.  A  whole  feast  of  enjoy- 
ment seemed  shut  up  inside  those  fascinating  covers. 
But  she  would  not  nibble  the  feast  now ;  and  closing 
"The  Daisy  Chain,"  begun  to  unpack  her  hand- 
bag. 

She  opened  the  top  bureau-drawer,  and  said  "  Oh !" 
quite  aloud,  for  there  appeared  a  row  of  neat  little 
linen  collars  and  cuffs,  some  pretty  black  neck-ties, 
a  nub6  of  fleecy  white  wool,  and  a  couple  of  cunning 
paper  boxes  with  the  jeweller's  mark  on  their  lids. 
Could  they  be  meant  for  her?  She  ventured  to 
peep.  One  box  held  a  pair  of  jet  sleeve-buttons; 
the  other,  a  small  locket  of  shining  jet,  with  a  rib- 
11  p 


242  EYEBRIGHT. 

bon  drawn  through  its  ring,  all  ready  for  wear.  She 
was  still  wondering  over  these  discoveries,  when  a 
little  tap  sounded  on  the  door,  followed  immedi- 
ately by  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"  I  just  came  to  see  if  you  had  all  you  wanted," 
she  said.  "  Oh,  you  have  found  those  little  duds.  I 
knew,  from  what  Father  wrote,  that  you  couldn't 
get  any  thing  in  the  place  where  you  were,  so  I 
chose  those  few  little  things,  and  to-morrow  we'll 
see  what  more  you  want."  Then,  cutting  short 
Eyebright's  thanks,  she  opened  the  closet  door 
and  called  out:  "Let  me  have  your  jacket  to  hang 
up,  my  dear.  There's  some  shelves  at  this  end 
for  your  hats.  And  now  I'll  help  you  unpack. 
You  '11  never  begin  to  feel  at  home  till  you  're  all 
unpacked   and   put   away.     Nobody   does." 

Jt  was  a  real  satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Joyce  to  notice 
how  few  clothes  Eyebright  possessed,  and  how 
shabby  they  were.  All  the  time  that  she  folded, 
and  arranged,  she  was  saying  to  herself,  gleefully 
"  She  wants  this,  she  needs  that :  she  must  have 
all  sorts  of  things  at  once.  To-morrow  I'll  buy 
her  a  nice  Henrietta  cloth,  and  a  cashmere  for  every 
day,  and  a  pretty  wrap  of  some  kind  and  a  hat." 


TRANSPLANTED.  248 

She  betrayed  the  direction  of  her  thoughts  by  turn- 
ing suddenly  with  the  question,  — 

"  What  sized  gloves  do  you  wear,  my  dear  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  haven't  had 
any  gloves  for  two  years,  except  a  pair  of  worsted 
mittens  last  winter." 

"  Gracious ! "  said  Mrs.  Joyce,  but  I  think  she 
was  rather  pleased  than  otherwise.  The  truth  was, 
all  her  life  long  she  had  been  "spoiling"  for  a 
daughter  to  pet  and  make  much  of,  and  now,  at 
last,  her  chance  had  come.  "Boys  are  all  very 
well,"  she  told  Mr.  Joyce  that  night.  "But  once 
they  get  into  roundabouts,  there  is  absolutely  noth- 
ing more  which  their  mothers  can  do  for  them  in 
the  way  of  clothes.  Girls  are  different.  I  always 
knew  that  1  should  like  a  girl  to  look  after,  and  this 
seems  a  dear  child,  Benjamin.  I  *m  sure  I  shall  be 
fond  of  her." 

The  tea-bell  rang  in  the  midst  of  the  unpacking ; 
but,  as  Mrs.  Joyce  observed,  they  had  the  rest  of 
the  week  before  them,  and  it  didn't  matter  a  bit; 
so  she  hurried  Eyebright  downstairs,  and  into  a 
cheerful  dining-room.  Cheerfulness  seemed  tlie  main 
characteristic   of  the  Joyce   establishment.     It  was 


244  EYEBKIGHT. 

not  at  all  an  elegant  house,  —  not  even,  1  am  sorry 
to  say,  a  tasteful  one.  Nothing  could  possibly  be 
uglier  or  more  common-place  than  the  furniture,  the 
curtains,  or  the  flaps  of  green  reps  above  the  curtains, 
known  to  village  circles  as  ''  lamberkins,"  and  the 
pride  of  Mrs.  Joyce's  heart.  The  carpets  and  wall 
paper  had  no  affinity  with  each  other,  and  both 
would  have  horrified  an  artist  in  home  decoration. 
But  everywhere,  all  through  the  house,  were  neat- 
ness, solid  comfort,  and  that  spirit  of  family  affec- 
tion which  makes  any  house  pleasant,  no  matter 
how  pretty  or  how  ugly  it  may  be ;  and  this  atmos- 
phere of  loving-kindness  was  as  reviving  to  Eye- 
bright's  drooping  spirits  as  real  sunshine  is  to  a  real 
plant,  drenched  and  beaten  down  by  heavy  storms. 
She  felt  its  warmth  through  and  through,  and  from 
the  first  it  did  her  good. 

Mr.  Joyce  had  just  asked  a  blessing,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  cut  the  smoking  beefsteak  before  him, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  a  tall  boy,  with  curly  hair 
and  a  bright  manly  face,  hurried  in. 

"  Why,  father,  I  didn't  know  you  were  here,  or  I 
should  have  been  in  long  ago.  How  are  you,  sir  ? " 
ending  the  sentence,  to  Eyebright's  amazement  and 


TRANSPLANTED.  246 

amusement  both,  with  a  hug  and  a  hearty  kiss, 
which  his  father  as  heartily  returned. 

"  Yes ;  I  'm  at  home  again,  and  very  glad  and 
thankful  to  be  here,'*  said  Mr.  Joyce.  "  Here 's  the 
new  sister,  Charley;  you  didn't  see  her,  did  you? 
Eyebright,  this  is  my  son  Charley." 

"  My  son  Charley,"  like  most  boys  of  sixteen,  was 
shy  with  girls  whom  he  was  not  acquainted  with. 
He  shook  hands  cordially,  but  he  said  little ;  only  he 
watched  Eyebright  when  she  was  not  observing,  and 
his  eyes  were  very  friendly.  He  liked  her  face,  and 
thought  her  pretty,  which  was  certainly  very  good  of 
him,  for  she  was  looking  her  worst  —  tired  and 
pale,  with  none  of  her  usual  sparkle,  and  dressed 
in  the  water-proof  suit  which  was  not  at  all  be- 
coming. 

So  here,  in  this  secure  and  kindly  haven,  I  think 
we  may  leave  our  little  storm-tossed  girl,  with  the 
safe  assurance  that  she  will  be  tenderly  and  wisely 
cared  ibr.  T  know  that  a  few  among  you  will  want  to 
hear  more.  No  story  was  ever  written  so  long  or  so 
conclusive,  that  some  child-reader  did  not  pop  up  at 
the  end  with,  "  Oh,  but  just  tell  us  this  one  thing.' 
I  cannot  satisfy  such ;  still,  for  their  benefit,  I  will  just 


246  EYEBRIGHT. 

hint  at  a  remark  made  by  Mrs.  Joyce  some  months 
later.  She  and  Mr.  Joyce  were  sitting  on  the  porch, 
and  Eyebright,  who  had  grown  as  dear  as  a  daughter 
to  the  old  lady's  heart,  was  playing  croquet  with 
Charley. 

''  It  really  does  seem  the  luckiest  thing  that  ever 
was,  your  being  shipwrecked  on  that  island,"  she  said. 
"  I  was  almost  frightened  to  death  when  I  heard  about 
it,  but  if  you  hadn't  we  never  should  have  got  hold 
of  that  child  as  we  did,  and  what  a  pity  that  would 
be  ?  She  certainly  is  the  nicest  girl  I  ever  saw  —  so 
sweet-tempered  and  loving  and  helpful,  I  don't  believe 
any  of  us  could  get  along  without  her  now.  How 
fond  she  and  Charley  seem  of  each  other !  I  can't 
help  thinking  they  '11  make  a  match  of  it  when  they 
grow  up.  It  would  be  an  excellent  idea,  don't  you 
agree  with  me,  Benjamin  ?  Charley  could  never  find 
anybody  whom  he  would  like  better,  and  then  we 
should  keep  Eyebright  with  us  always." 

Mr.  Joyce  roared  with  laughter. 

"  She 's  only  fifteen  and  Charley  won't  be  seventeen 
till  next  Saturday,"  he  said.  "Don't  you  think  you  'd 
better  put  off  your  castles  in  the  air  till  they  are 
both  a  little  older,  Mother  ? " 


t^  , 


TRANSPLANTED.  247 

Such  castles  are  absurd;  still  it  is  by  no  means 
impossible  that  this  may  come  to  pass,  and  if  it 
should  happen  to  do  so,  I  fancy  Mr.  Joyce  will  be 
as  much  pleased  as  "  Mother,"  every  whit. 


THE  END. 


UnlverBity  Press:  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


SUSAN    COOLIDGE'S 
POPULAR  STORY   BOOKS. 


Susan  Coolidge  has  always  possessed  the  affection  of  her  young  readers, 
for  it  seems  as  if  she  had  the  happy  instinct  of  planning  stories  that  each  girl 
would  like  to  act  out  in  reality.  —  The  Critic. 

Not  even  Miss  Alcott  apprehends  child  nature  with  finer  sympathy,  or  pic- 
tures its  nobler  traitr  'vith  more  skill.  — Boston  Daily  Advertiser, 


THE    NEW    YEAR'S    BARGAIN.     A  Christmas  Story  for 

Children.  With  Illustrations  by  Addie  Led  yard.  i6mo.  $1.25. 
WHAT   KATY   DID.    A  Story.    With  Illustrations  by  Addib 

Ledyard.     i6mo.     ^5^1.25. 
WHAT    KATY    DID   AT    SCHOOL.      Being   more   about 

*' What  Katy  Did."     With  Illustrations.     i6mo.     I1.25. 
MISCHIEF'S  THANKSGIVING,  and  other  Stories.     With 

Illustrations  by  Addie  Ledyard.     i6mo.    $1.2^. 
NINE   LITTLE   GOSLINGS.     With  Illustrations  by  J.  A. 

Mitchell.     i6mo.    ^1.25 
EYEBRIGHT.     A  Story.     With  Illustrations.     i6mo.    ^i.i^, 
CROSS    PATCH.     With  Illustrations.     i6mo.     $1.25. 
A    ROUND  DOZEN.     With  Illustrations.     i6mo.     $1.25. 
A  LITTLE   COUNTRY   GIRL.     With  Illustrations.    i6mo. 

$1.25. 
WHAT  KATY  DID  NEXT.   With  Illustrations.  i6mo.  I1.25. 
CLOVER.    A  Sequel  to  the  Katy  Books.     With  Illustrations  by 

Jessie  McDermott.     i6mo.    $1.25. 
JUST   SIXTEEN.     With  Illustrations.     i6mo.     $1.25. 
IN  THE  HIGH  VALLEY.    With  Illustrations.    i6mo.    $1.25. 
A    GUERNSEY    LILY  ;  or,  How  the  Feud  was  Healed.     A 

Story  of  the  Channel  Islands.      Profusely  Illustrated.   i6mo. 

$1.25. 
THE    BARBERRY   BUSH,  and  Seven  Other  Stories  about 

Girls  for  Girls.     With  Illustrations   by  Jessie  McDermott. 

T6mo.     $1.25. 
NOT    QUITE    EIGHTEEN.     A  volume  of   Stories.     With 

illustrations  by  Jessie  McDermott.     i6mo.    ^1.25. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers.     Mailed^  post-paid,  on   receipt  of  price^ 
by  the  Publishers, 


•DMTJTTDTC     TlT?nTMFPC:      R-' «Tnri 


Under  the  Water-Oaks. 

A  Southern  Story  for  Young  People.  By  Marian  Brew- 
ster. Illustrated  by  J.  F.  Goodridge.  Square  i6mo.  Cloth. 
Price,  ^1.25. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers.     Mailed^ post-paid,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


